


There Is a World Elsewhere

by francisthefairyqueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/francisthefairyqueen/pseuds/francisthefairyqueen
Summary: Ophelia Rose Potter is the twin to Harry James Potter. Somehow even though they both should be, she's not dead. And she intends to keep it that way. For both of them. However, Hogwarts is a deadly experience in itself, and that, combined with venomous snakes and 'traditional tournaments,' makes her plan of simply getting her and her twin out alive is a great deal more complicated. The fact that her brother's a Gryffindor and she's a Slytherin, make her plan almost impossible to ensure. However the Key word is almost.And she will do whatever it takes to get through her Hogwarts years. Even if her aims change from surviving and keeping her brother to stopping a goddamn war for the good of the Wizarding World.A Harry Potter twin sister AU
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

It was evening when their lives changed forever. 

Petunia was taking their one year old son, Dudley, to his cot, and Vernon Dursley was doing exactly what he always did at 7 o’clock on a Friday evening, he watched the telly. 

He initially ignored the first chime of the doorbell, not expecting any guests. At the second chime however, he reluctantly got up and went to the door. 

After all, he had to keep up appearances.

He opened the door, and upon seeing no one, assumed that one of the kids in the area was playing a prank on them. However, a strange urge to look down overcame him, and so he did. What he found was anything but normal- something which the Dursleys prided themselves on being.

“PETUNIA!” 

His wife ran down the stairs at her husband’s yell, clearly confused, yet once she saw the basket in his arms, her horrified expression quickly matched his panicked tone of voice.

With a shaking hand, she took the letter resting on top of the basket, and read the contents of it, letting out a choked sob at the end.

“What is it dear?” Vernon asked, the two and the basket having moved to the living room. 

“It’s Lily,” Petunia mumbled, her tears flowing freely down her face, “She’s dead!”

“Your freak sister?” he asked uncertainly and she nodded.

Whilst the two hadn’t spoken in years, perhaps somewhere deep down in Petunia Dursley’s soul there was still some love for her younger sister.   
That’s what Albus Dumbledore hoped when he left the young Potters with their last living blood relative. Minerva McGonagoll hadn’t been so sure, but relented with her fears due to her faith in the elderly headmaster.

Petunia gave the letter to Vernon, whose face reddened as he read the contents of it. 

“The babies are her demon spawn then?” He asked, not needing an answer this time.

For there were two babies in the basket- a boy and a girl, who looked anything but normal. From the bright red hair of the girl- that was clearly inherited from her mother, to the weirdly shaped lightning scar on the boy’s forehead that looked like it had been inflicted recently, the two stood out. These two would stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd and not blend in seamlessly, something of which the Dursleys desperately wanted to do- to avoid the fate of Petunia’s parents. 

It felt like a lifetime ago when Petunia first told Vernon about the freak of a sister she had, but now said freak was dooming them all from beyond the grave, condemning them and their Dudders to a world that was the farthest thing from normal that could be. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to her husband, her cries having subsided long enough to let her speak, “I brought this onto us.”  
He laughed then, and she looked at him curiously.

“You didn’t do anything my dear, if it was anyone, it was your whore of a sister who opened her legs long enough to breed.”  
He looked at the twins again, his face reddened once more and he opened his mouth, presumably to yell. However, he seemed to think better of it, and instead smirked.

“We can’t kick them out. This...Dumbledore guy won’t let us. But’s what’s to say these two will be freaks?”  
She looked confused so he continued.

“It’s not their freak of a mother and bastard of a father that are raising them- it’s us. We can simply just raise them to be normal and non-freakish. Exactly like ourselves!”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, sweetheart.”

“Then I’ll beat the magic out of them!” He roared, “By the time we’re finished with them Petunia, they’ll be as normal as one can be!”  
She nodded, her sadness being replaced by determination. 

“How do you propose we do that love?”

“Well, I’ve got a few ideas...”

Whilst Albus Dumbledore had believed that the love Petunia Dursley had for her sister would ensure a good childhood for Harry and Ophelia Potter, Minerva McGonagoll hadn’t been so sure. This family was happy yes, but completely normal. So how were they going to react when thrown into an abnormal situation like this? Her instincts told her not well, but her trust in Albus forbade her from speaking out any further than what she had already said. And so she had left Privet Drive, with a heavy heart and a hope that she was wrong. 

Unfortunately, she had been right.

\--------------

The first thing Ophelia noticed upon waking up was that it was the knocking on the door that woke her up instead of it being her Aunt’s shrill voice. Petunia hadn’t screamed at her in a while- which messed up her sleeping schedule because quite frankly she had gotten used to waking up to that, but she was still getting used to the change in the Dursley’s attitude towards her.

Another knock on the door- albeit a more impatient one, caused her to get out of her bed, quickly dress and go over to the door. It still amazed her - a month after moving into it - that the room was so big that she had to walk across it to open the door. Which was something of which she had never had before due to sharing the cupboard under the stairs with her twin brother, Harry.  
She opened the door, silently praying that it wasn’t her cousin Dudley on the other side. Whilst he liked her more than her brother, he was still a spoilt brat who expected everyone to cater to his every whim the first time he demanded it. Any later and you’ll get hit with Uncle Vernon’s old Smelting stick - a knobbly stick which hurt when he uses it.

It was Aunt Petunia. 

“Sorry for not answering immediately Aunt Petunia,” she said quickly, wondering if she would get a punishment for this. Knowing the Dursleys, probably. 

“It’s alright,” Her Aunt says, and for a second Ophelia’s sure that there is a ghost of a smile on her face. 

Her expression turns stern again. 

“Help the boy out with breakfast, Rose.”

After saying that she goes to the shower and Ophelia quickly hurries down the stairs, a look of disgust clear on her face.   
Her name was not Rose. It was Ophelia.

Harry called her crazy for claiming this, but she was sure she was right. He also told her that at least she got a name from them, and she’d had to fight the wave of guilt that washed over her- at least she wasn’t called ‘girl’.

Before she enters the kitchen, she makes sure that all traces of disgust are wiped from her face. She could deal without any punishments today- and a horrible expression on her face is sure to warrant one.

What day was it today? June 23rd. She racks her brain, trying to think of important dates. Oh, right, Dudley’s birthday...

She shudders briefly and plasters a fake smile on her face before entering the kitchen. Dudley was always awful on his birthday- his spoiled nature truly coming to light, and this year was clearly no different. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. She briefly wondered what a fat pig like Dudley would want a racing bike for, as it’s not like her cousin actually liked to do exercise. Unless it was boxing and her brother was the punching bag... 

Speaking of her brother, he’s over by the stove, cooking from the smell of it, bacon. His glasses were slightly fogged up from the smoke from the pan, and he seemed somewhat irritated- most likely due to her uncle, but otherwise he was alright. That is of course, if she ignored his lanky, malnourished frame like most of her peers at St. Grogory’s did. She knew that she had the same frame. 

He noticed her and gave her a brief smile, something of which she returned. 

“Good morning, Uncle Vernon!” She chirps, trying to seem much happier than she feels and he briefly looks up from his newspaper. One of the first things she learnt at this household was that to get them to vaguely like her, she had to act as normal as one could be. Something of which she and her twin knew they weren’t, but she- unlike Harry, was willing to pretend to be that around them.

“Morning. You look presentable,” he greets before motioning to her to join Harry. 

“No Talking!” He barks out to the two and they both nod, knowing that non-acknowledgement results in punishment. 

Ophelia had started frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. His large pink face had lit up when he had seen the presents awaiting him, and he started to count them when she had finished frying. However instead of her brother, who got to eat then, she had to start making Dudley’s birthday cake.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was clearly difficult as there wasn’t much room.   
Dudley however was starting to have a tantrum.

“Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”

“All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face.

Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. She couldn’t blame him- they barely got to eat anyway, and it’s not like the Durselys would let him eat something else. Ophelia started to follow the instructions for the cake a little quicker, hoping to get the cake in the oven before her cousin’s tantrum reached its peak. 

Aunt Petunia probably scented danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right”

Dudley thought for a moment, and somehow, he made it looked like hard work to do. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty… thirty…”

“Thirty-nine, sweet cousin,” she said in a falsely sweet voice, and Uncle Vernon looked at her somewhat approvingly.

“Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

Uncle Vernon chuckled at that.

“Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. ’Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair, and Harry looked away, clearly wishing that he had someone to do that to him. She couldn’t blame him though - she wanted the same thing.

The telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it, leaving Ophelia to her baking and Harry and Uncle Vernon to watch Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. The twins look at her surprised. So they were planning on taking her to wherever the hell Dudley wanted to go to this year? She briefly wondered why they saw her as more trustworthy than Harry and then remembered that they hadn’t seen any of her ‘accidents.’ 

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but the twins looked at each other in barely concealed excitement. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, they were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a strange old lady- Harry considered her mad, who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there and she disliked it as the whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned, which whilst fascinating the first time, quickly got old.

“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Ophelia struggled to hold down the rage that was bubbling down inside her as she put the cake in the oven. It wasn’t Harry’s fault, and their horrible Aunt knew this! 

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested, and Harry visibly winced. He hated her.

“Don’t be silly, Vernon, the girl would work but she hates the boy.”

At least the feeling was mutual. 

“What about what’s-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?”

“You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully and she wondered if she’d get left behind to keep an eye on him. It didn’t sound terrible as they’d be able to watch what they wanted on television for once- or even have a go on Dudley’s computer!

Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon and Harry tried - but failed miserably, to not let his disappointment show.

“And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled.

“I won’t blow up the house,” he said with a frown but they weren’t listening. That one time Harry had set the toaster on fire was clearly playing in their heads, and Ophelia doubted he would ever be able to redeem himself to them from that incident.

“I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car…”

“That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone…”

Dudley began to wail loudly. He wasn’t really crying — it had been years since he’d really cried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.

“I’ll make you buttercream with your cake! Your favourite!” Ophelia cries quickly, trying to deflect the pig’s attention onto her, but to no avail.

“I… don’t… want… him… t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs and completely ignoring her. 

“He always sp-spoils everything!”

He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms and she glares, taking a step forward.

Luckily for Dudley, at that moment, the doorbell rang. 

“Oh, good Lord, they’re here!” Aunt Petunia said frantically - a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

2 hours later, they were sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their life. 

4 people in the back of a 5 seater car- especially one as big as Dudley, made the car a very cramped space, but Ophelia and Harry didn’t care, for they were going to the zoo!

Their aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside, and she’d listened from the kitchen door.

“I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy! Any funny business, anything at all — and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly…” 

But it was clear that Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did in Little Whinging.

The problem was, her twin wasn’t wrong. Strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn’t make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly. She’d also cut Ophelia’s hair, but luckily it hadn’t grown back overnight and so she was free to smuggle food and water back to her brother.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished.

On the other hand, he’d gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surprise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry had supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump, but Ophelia had a feeling that something else was the reasoning behind this.

She was lucky when it came to her ‘accidents’ unlike him. Most of the time, they happened whenever she was alone, which meant that the Dursleys never found out. 

The closest they had ever got to finding out, was when her and Harry had played hide and seek for the first time in Year 4. She’d hidden behind a curtain, but the Seeker constantly went right past her, even going through her at one point. When the bell had rung, she had panicked about not getting to her classroom in time, but much to her surprise, she’d appeared right outside the door, where she wasted no time in running and getting to her seat. The teacher had told her that if she had been any later he would have called her relatives and so, she is grateful that he didn’t. 

So the Dursleys didn’t know about her strange happenings, and after seeing how they treat Harry from these events, she was determined to keep it that way.

Today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, their cupboard, or Mrs. Figg’s cat-filled living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things with Harry being his favorite subject. This morning however, he was complaining about motorcycles.

“… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Harry, without thinking. “It was flying.”

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face looking like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache.  
“MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Dudley and Piers sniggered and Ophelia looked at her brother in shock. That is one thing she could never understand about him, it didn’t matter how many times the two were shouted out or beaten, he still acted thoughtlessly- acting with his heart instead of his head. She both hated and respected this side of him, but doubted it would ever just go away.

“I know they don’t,” said Harry defensively. “It was only a dream.”

If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

“I had the same dream,” she whispered to him, making sure Dudley and Piers didn’t hear and he smiled at her before grasping her hand. 

She’d read in a book in her class library that if more than one person dreamed the same thing, then the thing probably had already happened and so this immediately came to mind. However, she quickly brushed this thought aside. Where would she and Harry have seen a flying motorcycle? And more importantly, how would they have seen one when they don’t even exist?

The zoo was crowded with families, which made Ophelia uncomfortable. But it didn’t dampen the excitement she felt whilst looking at the different exhibits. 

The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. She’d politely shaken her head at the lady when she turned to her as she doubted the Dursleys would be pleased with her if she asked for something but to her surprise, Uncle Vernon bought her a 99 ice cream. She’d quickly swapped it with Harry when they had turned their backs, who quickly ate it knowing that they’d get in trouble if the grown ups found out. They got away with it, and when Harry had finished it, Ophelia had let out a sigh she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

They had the best morning they’d had in a long time, if not ever. 

They walked a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals after about an hour, wouldn’t fall back on their favourite hobby of hitting Harry. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and the two were allowed to finish the first.

However, Ophelia could not shake off a feeling that this was all too good to last. Harry also mumbled the same thing to her at the end of lunch and she’d nodded, waiting for the inevitable mistake that one of them would make. 

After lunch they went to the reptile house. 

It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. They’s quickly found the largest snake in the place, but, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. and Ophelia had to bite back a snort as to how stupid Dudley looked. She instead shared a grin with Harry and they watched the scene playing out with mirth.

“Make it move,” he whined at his father and Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered and Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away dejectedly as the twins took a closer look at the snake.

Deciding it was nothing special, Ophelia trails after her cousin, but Harry moves in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She stops and stares at her twin, wondering what on earth was he doing? She notices him winking at it through the glass, and sighs, knowing that nothing good was going to come out of this.

Her resignation turned to disbelief as he starts to talk to it, and before you know it, it seems like they’re having a regular conversation. Well, as regular as a conversation between a snake and a human can get.

She doesn’t notice Piers until he pushes her onto the ground.

“DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T  
BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

“Out of the way, you,” he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry also fell hard onto the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror, for the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. Ophelia wasn’t sure which one of them had done it, but she knew that this was her or her brother’s fault. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits, and she wished she could join them.

As the snake slithered past Harry, she could have sworn she heard it hiss at him, but by now she hoped that this was all a twisted nightmare.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.  
“But the glass,” he kept saying, “where did the glass go?”  
She didn’t blame him.

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as the twins had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, “Harry was talking to it, weren’t you, Harry?”

Uncle Vernon managed to keep his temper reigned in until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry although he was clearly struggling to. He was so angry by the time Piers left that he could hardly speak. He managed to say, “Go — cupboard — stay — no meals,” before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy. Ophelia just stood there staring at them, waiting for them to tell her to go to the cupboard too- or at least her room. 

Aunt Marge- neither twin knew why they had to refer to her as such when they weren’t blood related, had suggested they go into separate rooms the last time she had come over. 

“They’re growing up,” she had argued, but both Ophelia and Harry knew that she just wanted to separate them. After all, they were stronger together- and everyone knew it. Her plan backfired anyway, as most nights Harry just snuck upstairs into her room and went back downstairs before the Dursleys woke up. There had been a few close calls, but the Dursleys hadn’t figured this out yet- and the twins planned to keep it that way.

The Dursleys didn’t say anything to her, so she instead went to the kitchen and got out Dudley’s finished cake. They calmed down somewhat after seeing it, and after singing Happy Birthday, they acted like nothing had happened. 

She made dinner as well and when they eventually went upstairs, got as much food as she could manage to take to Harry. As according to their system. When one of them- usually Harry, was punished, the other would sneak food to them so that they wouldn’t starve. It was much harder when both were being punished, but they managed to do it and thus didn’t starve to death. 

It was easier these days to get food for Harry as the Dursleys often went to bed before she had a chance to, as she was still usually carrying out her chores. As she proved to be the more trustworthy twin to the family- which was ironic as Harry was at least somewhat honest around them whereas she never was, her list of chores was substantially longer, and so she would often be scrubbing the dishes at 9 PM, the usual time 10 year olds in her area went to bed at. 

She brings the food to the cupboard and walks in without knocking, knowing that he won’t be asleep. Not when he’s that hungry (she knew firsthand how that felt). Harry looks up and noticing that it’s her due to the light on in the landing, his face breaks out in a huge grin.   
“I brought some cake,” she says and if it’s possible, his grin gets even wider.

He eats in silence whilst she sits on his bed. It’s a comfortable one as no words need to be said, and she already knows what he’s thinking. It’s the same thing he thinks everytime he’s sent to the cupboard. Hell, it’s exactly what she thinks whenever she gets in trouble with their awful relatives.

They’d lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as either of them could remember, ever since their parents had died in a car crash when they were roughly a year old. Neither could remember their parents at all, and their aunt and uncle never spoke about them, with both being forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house. And late at night, when all three of their relatives were asleep, they’d fantasized about what their parents could have been like. 

But sadly, even though these games were fun to imagine, they would go to sleep and wake up with the realisation that what they’ve come up with is simply their imagination and nothing else.   
At school, they only had each other. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and the only person that dared to go near him was ‘Rose’ Potter. In life, they only had each other, and although neither twin would say it- they both longed for other people to hang out with- other people who would have their backs so their twin wouldn’t need to. 

\------

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and on the first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. From the looks the neighbours gave him when the Dursleys walked down the street, Ophelia was convinced that she and Harry weren’t the only people who hated their dear cousin. 

They spent as much time as possible out of the house- to avoid Dudley’s gang, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they wouldn’t have to be with Dudley anymore, who’d been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and Ophelia, on the other hand, were going to Stonewall High, the local public school.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen one morning when the two went in for breakfast, which seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. From the looks on Dudley and Uncle Vernon’s face, they agreed with the twins, who went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

“What’s this?” Harry asked Aunt Petunia.   
Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question, but surprisingly she answered.

“Your new school uniform,” she said.  
They looked into the bowl again.  
“Oh,” he said, “I didn’t realize it had to be so wet.”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I’m dyeing some of Dudley’s old things gray for you. It’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’ve finished.”

“Is this my uniform as well Aunt Petunia?” Ophelia asked, wondering how everyone in the school would react to the two when they show up in this...elephant skin school uniform. 

“No,” her Aunt says and she looks at her surprised, “Your uniform is upstairs. It required a skirt.”  
She silently breathes a sigh of relief and after shooting Harry an apologetic look, smiles at her Aunt.   
“Thank you Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,” she chirps, making sure that the two hear the gratefulness in her tone. 

At least she won’t look like an elephant. 

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper. Ophelia looks at Vernon in surprise. Usually he makes Harry or her get it. Maybe the stench of the dye has gotten to his brain? 

“Make Harry get it.”

“Get the mail, Harry.”

There it is. 

“Make Dudley get it,” Harry responds and she stares at him resignedly. It looked like Harry was feeling reckless today...

“Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. She continued to eat the breakfast she’d made everyone and ignored her feeling that something was about to happen.

She frowns when Harry takes too long to come back from the corridor. What was taking him so long?

“Hurry up, boy!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke, and she has to stop herself from visibly flinching. From what the news said about this, it was no joke and yet here’s her uncle, joking about it like the despicable human being he was.  
Harry came back to the kitchen, and she noticed him staring at a letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, but not the letter she noted and sat down to open the letter. leaning over, she noticed that it was addressed to a Mr H. Potter and a Miss O. Potter.

Unfortunately she wasn’t the only one to pay attention to what Harry was doing. 

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly, making the other people in the room jump. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon, and Ophelia fought back the urge to snatch it out of her uncle’s hand. She knew she was fast enough to get upstairs and read it...

“That’s mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights.   
Her curiosity immediately spikes again. 

Seriously, what was in this letter?

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped and her Aunt looks up.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach.   
Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that the twins and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored and so he gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“I want to read it,” said Harry furiously, “as it’s mine.”

She stays silent, unsure of what to do.

“Get out, both of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. Did he forget she was there?

Harry didn’t move and neither did she.

“I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted, clearly annoyed.

“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley like the spoilt brat he was.

“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks whilst Aunt Petunia grabbed Ophelia and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.   
“Let’s go to the cupboard Harry,” she says and her brother looks at her increduously. 

“But I want to know what’s in our letter,” he says before he’s pushed away by Dudley, who listens at the keyhole.

“I don’t think we’ll hear,” she says but by then he isn’t listening to her. 

With a huff she leaves and goes to her room, wondering what the hell had just happened.

That evening, around half an hour after Uncle Vernon returned from work, Harry was in her room with the little belongings he had.   
At her raised eyebrow he explained. 

“Uncle Vernon said that I’m getting a bit big for the cupboard so they think I should stay with you.”

She nods.

“They’re going to have to move all Dudley’s toys to accommodate the both of us,” she says and he nods.

The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog; in the corner was Dudley’s first-ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. Ophelia had spent hours reading them during her first couple of weeks in the room, and she wondered if Harry was going to do the same. Then again, he didn’t really like to read.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, “I don’t want them in there… I need that room… make them get out…”

Harry sighed and lay on her (their?) bed. 

“I just want our letter,” he mumbles and she nods, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

\------

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock, giving everyone a nice break from his whining. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he’d opened the letter in the hall, so he didn’t say anything, and Ophelia just stayed quiet as always. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry- a first, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There’s another one! ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive —’”

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry’s letter clutched in his hand. Ophelia and Aunt Petunia just watched in horror from the kitchen.

“Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Harry, who didn’t argue back. “Dudley - go - just go.”

He walked back into the kitchen and noticed her. 

“Should I go to my room as well Uncle Vernon?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to bear the brunt of his anger.

“Just do your chores Rose,” he mutters irritably and she does as she’s told, eavesdropping on her relatives’ conversation. She doesn’t hear most of it, but her parents are brought up a lot alongside the idea of the family being watched and she briefly asks herself what kind of people did her parents associate themselves with if they were stalking their friends kids? 

More importantly, why hadn’t they reported the Dursleys to the authorities for child abuse? 

She came upstairs to find Harry with a newly fixed alarm clock and a screwdriver, where he happily declared that he had a plan. A plan that almost definitely wouldn’t work, but she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o’clock the next morning and Harry turned it off quickly, knowing that they mustn’t wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights, and she followed behind.

“AAAAARRRGH!”

She leapt into the air wondering what on earth had just happened, and looked to see where her twin was so she could save him from whatever was going on. She reached forward to grab him, but to their horror, the lights clicked on upstairs. 

Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn’t do exactly what he’d been trying to do. 

Unsurprisingly, he shouted at them for about half an hour and then told them to go and make a cup of tea and some toast. By the time they had got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon’s lap, where they could see six letters- three for her, three for him, written with green ink. 

“I want —” Harry began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before he could finish. She hugged him once they had gone back to their room, and hoped that they’d be able to get a letter soon.

Uncle Vernon didn’t go to work that day. 

He instead stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot like a madman.

Ophelia wondered what the neighbours were thinking.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t deliver them they’ll just give up.”

She looked doubtful.

“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon.”

“Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him. Ophelia had to hide her laugh with a cough.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for the two of them. As they couldn’t go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even were even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again and after burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out.

On Saturday, somehow things began to get even more out of hand. 

Twenty-four letters to Harry and her found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to you two this badly?” Dudley asked them in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today —”

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but both of them leapt into the air trying to catch one. By this point, she’d given up trying to get on the Dursleys’ good side, and instead just wanted to know what was in that damn letter.

“Out! OUT!”

Uncle Vernon seized them both around their waists and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor, and it was obvious from the look on Harry’s face that he desperately wanted to go back in there for what he rightfully saw as his. She doubted she looked any less desperate.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time- greatly concerning everyone there.

“I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, going through the motorway at an alarming speed. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat as his father had hit him round the head- perhaps for the first time- for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn’t dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

“Shake ’em off… shake ’em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this, and the twins looked at each other, wondering if their Uncle had finally gone mad.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling as the spoilt brat had never had such a bad day in his life. 

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city, where the three children shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry and Ophelia stayed awake, staring out at the passing cars and wondering what would have happened to them if they were in a different car instead, with a different family.

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day, and had almost finished when the hotel owner came over to them.

“’Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter or Ms. O. Potter? Only I got about an ’undred of these at the front desk.”

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter and Ms. O. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

“I thought her name was Rose,” Dudley said looking at Ophelia, and she shrugged in response.

“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon after a pause, before standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

“Wouldn’t it be better just to go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to hear her.   
Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. 

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon, and the twins couldn’t help but agree. By then, Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled and complained about some dumb T.V. show that only aired on Mondays.

Wait, Monday? The twins looked at each other with a small grin. This meant that if it was Monday then tomorrow, Tuesday, was their eleventh birthday.

Their birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had given them two coat hangers but still, you weren’t eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon came back with a smile, and the hairs on the back of Ophelia’s neck stood up. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn’t answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he’d bought.

“He’s going to kill us,” Harry whispered to her, and she nodded, looking uneasy. 

She had read about rifles before in a book, and the long, thin package matched the description of the concealed weapon in the book.

“Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”

Reluctantly, they got out.

It was very cold outside the car and Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was a miserable little shack. One thing was certain, there was no television in there- something that would horrify Dudley.

The twins looked at each other miserably. 

“What was in that letter?” Harry asks her bitterly and she shrugs, wondering if they’d live long enough to get to say happy birthday to each other. 

From the angry look of the sea, she doubted it.

“Storm forecast for tonight!” said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. “And this gentleman’s kindly agreed to lend us his boat!”

A very suspicious toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

“I’ve already got us some rations,” said Uncle Vernon, “so all aboard!”

\------

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

Somehow the inside was worse than the outside; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon’s rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. Harry and Ophelia had to split their banana in two. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully.

Obviously, his sudden upbeat mood was clearly attributed to his thoughts that nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Ophelia privately agreed, though that didn’t cheer anyone else up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. She wondered whether the house would even survive the night. Probably not. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and the twins were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and curled up next to each other under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on so neither could sleep. Somehow, Dudley’s snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told them they’d be eleven in ten minutes’ time, and so they lay and watched their birthday tick nearer, with Ophelia wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all and with Harry wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. There was a creak outside, and they hoped the roof wasn’t going to fall in, although they might be warmer if it did. 

Four minutes to go. 

Three minutes to go. 

Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? It sounded like tires... But that was impossible. 

Two minutes to go. 

One minute to go and they’d be eleven. 

She turns and smiles at him warmly, getting a smile in response. 

Thirty seconds. 

He grabs her hand and squeezes encouragingly, most likely reminding her that he was there to celebrate their birthday with her. 

Twenty. 

Ten seconds- Even if no one else was. 

Three… 

Two… 

One…

They open their mouths to say happy birthday to each other, but a noise from the door interrupts them.

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and they both bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking- or rather trying to get in. 

“Someone is actually going to kill us,” She says to Harry, who nods- clearly too scared to say anything.

BOOM. 

They knocked again. 

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands - now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them. It turns out she was right.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you - I'm armed!"

If she hadn’t been so scared, Ophelia would have snorted. As if this fat pig of a man could be intimidating to anyone older than fifteen.

There was a pause. 

Then the door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor. 

Aunt Petunia screamed, and the twins couldn’t blame her.

For a giant of a man was standing in the doorway. 

His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but his black eyes were visible. And he did not look happy.

This giant of a man managed to squeeze his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. 

He bent down and picked up the door, fitting it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little and so he turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

This guy was coming to kill them and he wanted tea?!

Ophelia looked at her brother and he shrugs- slightly less scared than before.

The man strode over to Dudley’s sofa and the twins look on in fear, expecting him to claim his first victim out of the Dursley family.

Instead, he looks at the boy as if he’s an insect.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," he said, to which Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

The twins hesitantly stood up, noticing how far away they were from the Dursleys, who were the only ones with any sort of weapon.

The man turns to look at the twins- Harry specifically, and instead of glaring, he grins.

"An' here's Harry and Ophelia!" he said cheerfully and the two of them just stare at him.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," he continues, "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

His eyes turn to her. 

“And you! Yer the spitting image of yer mum!”

“You knew our parents?” Harry asks, but before he could say anything, Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the stranger, who then reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on, and even though the one weapon they had has now been destroyed, the twins suppressed a snicker.

"Anyway - Harry and Ophelia," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys and towards them, "a very happy birthday to yers. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right. I promise."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled out a slightly squashed box, and after looking at each other, Harry hesitantly opened it with trembling fingers. 

Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry and Ophelia written on it in green and red icing- almost as if it was a cake made during christmas time instead of the summer.

Harry looked up at the giant, and she thinks he meant to say thank you, but she interrupted before he could say anything, blurting out "Who are you?"

The giant of a man chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm before shaking hers as well.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

“I’m sorry...er Mr. Hagrid,” she says hesitantly, “but I don’t think we have any tea.”

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and they felt the warmth wash over them as though they'd sunk into a hot bath. It had felt strangely familiar, but as she hadn’t had a warm bath before, she didn’t know why.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat from a copper kettle to a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly and turned to them.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to the twins, who had never tasted anything so wonderful- maybe it was due to the fact that they hadn’t made these. Harry still couldn't take his eyes off the giant- not that Ophelia could blame him, this situation was so strange... Finally, after a few more minutes of silence, Harry said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid- no Mister" he said, looking at her specifically, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts - yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

"Er - no," said Harry.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," they both said quickly, unsure of what else to say.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All of what?" she asked, her twin nodding next to her.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. Harry stepped protectively in front of her, and she greatly appreciated it- even if she doubted the guy would hurt them.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that these kids - these kids! -- know nothin' abou' -- about ANYTHING?"

That was going a bit far. They had gone to school, after all, and neither of their marks weren't bad. Hers would have been higher, but she made sure to only try when she was doing Dudley’s homework- he didn’t like it when she or her brother scored better than him in class.

"We know some things," he said defensively.   
"We can, you know, do math and stuff." she adds.

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"  
Both were even more confused now.

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Whilst Hagrid stared wildly at the twins.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're both famous."

"What? My- our mum and dad weren't famous, were they?" Harry asks confusedly.

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing them with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell them anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer them? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept what from us?" said Harry eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

The fire roared and went towards the Dursleys, who jumped back in fear. Aunt Petunia even gave a gasp of horror.

“Shut up,” Ophelia coldly says to them before turning back round to Hagrid, who stares at her with slight surprise before continuing.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry, Ophelia -- yer wizards."

There was silence inside the hut and only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

Ophelia wasn’t sure how to feel. On one hand, it made sense as to why the two of them had been so odd, but on the other... Why had no one told them?

"I'm a what?" gasped Harry.

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

They both stretched out their hands at last to take the yellowish envelope, one addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, and another to Ms. O. Potter, with the address being: The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. they pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter/Miss. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded in her head as she scrambled to collect her thoughts. After a few minutes Harry stammered out, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl -- a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl -- a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Ophelia could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given the twins their letter.

Taking them to buy their things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly. If she wasn’t so shocked at the situation, she would have laughed.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid and she opened her mouth to tell him, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"They’re not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop them," he said.

"A what?" said Harry, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

“What does that even mean?” She mumbled, but is ignored.

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" She asks increduously.

Harry quickly continues, "You knew we’re wizards?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that -- that school -- and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was -- a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed to the two that she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you two, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

She felt herself pale. As soon as her twin found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

She glared at them then- How dare they lie about that?! 

But she wasn’t nearly as angry as Hagrid, it seemed.

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry and Ophelia Potter not knowin' their own story when every kid in our world knows their names!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh -- but someone's gotta -- yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh -- mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with -- with a person called -- but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows--"

"Who?" she asks, curious.

"Well -- I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?" Harry joins in.

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested and she nodded.

"Nah -- can't spell it. All right -- Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this -- this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too -- some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him -- an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. Yous was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' - an'-"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn. Ophelia wondered if any boat nearby heard it, and assumed it was another ship.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad -- knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find -- anyway...

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then -- an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing -- he tried to kill yous, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh -- took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even -- but it didn't work on yous, an' that's why yer two are famous, Harry and Ophelia. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except yous, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age -- the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts -- an' yous were only babies, an' you lived."

As they tried to cope with this information, Hagrid merely looked at them sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon, and the fire roared again. How dare he say that?! Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage though. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you two, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured -- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion - asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types -- just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end--"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -- I'm warning you -- one more word..."

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent. Unable to help herself, she snorted, ignoring the glares that landed on her. 

She knew now she was better than the Dursleys, and so she wasn’t going to bring herself to care if they were offended.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask and she let him ask away, figuring that she just ask at a later date.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry -- I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful -- why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on - I dunno what it was, no one does - but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Ophelia listened to the giant’s words and frowned. 

“Why am I still alive then?” She asked Hagrid and her twin looked at her alarmed.

“It was Harry that finished him off right,” she continued and the giant nodded, “then why didn’t I die alongside my parents?”

“I dunno,” Hagrid replied with after a brief pause, “but it was fer a reas’n”

"Hagrid," Harry said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

“I don’t think you can choose Harry,” she mumbled and to their surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Both went quiet, and when they looked back at him, they saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at them.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry and Ophelia Potter, not wizards-- you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

She dreaded that.

It was at that moment that Uncle Vernon decided he wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you they’re not going?" he hissed. "They’re going to Stonewall High and Harry and Rose'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish -- spell books and wands and--"

"If they wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son and daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their name's been down ever since they was born. They’re off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and they won't know themselves. They’ll be with youngsters of theire own sort, fer a change, an' will be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled-"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.  
And it was obvious to everyone in the room that he had finally gone too far.   
Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER -- " he thundered, " - INSULT - ALBUS - DUMBLEDORE - IN - FRONT - OF - ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley -- there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, they saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at the twins under his bushy eyebrows. Ophelia snorted again and noticed that the giant’s eyes were filled with mirth.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm -- er -- not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff -- one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry, curious.

"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?" Ophelia asked.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to them.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' doormice in one o' the pockets."

Doormice was the least of their worries right now. And as the two fell asleep, Ophelia couldn’t help but feel fear towards the world they were going to be introduced to.


	2. Twins and Goblins

Chapter 1

“I told you,” I mumble when we wake up, turning to look at my brother, “I told you my name was Ophelia.”

Harry ignores me.

"It was a dream,” he tells himself firmly, his eyes remaining closed. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

I didn’t know whether or not he realised I was still there next to him.  
On the floor.  
Which was much harder than the beds we’d had at Privet Drive- both the one in the room and the Cupboard Under the Stairs.

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

“Well, we should get going,” I say, getting up and looking around the room, curious as to how Hagrid is going to get us plus the Dursleys off the island.  
The small boat wasn’t going to fit us all- Not with how fat Dudley and Uncle Vernon were.  
Also not with how big Hagrid was.  
Although I doubted that was due to fat- he was probably all muscle.

Tap.  
Tap.  
Tap.

Outside of the window there is an owl. I stare at it for a minute, unsure of what to do.  
“Harry!” I call, and he eventually opens an eye.  
"All right," he mumbles irritably, "I'm getting up."

He sits up and Hagrid's heavy coat falls off of him. 

The hut was full of sunlight with the storm finally being over, and he scrambles to his feet, going straight to the window and jerking it open. The owl swoops in and drops the newspaper on top of Hagrid, whose still on the sofa.  
He doesn't wake up.  
The owl then flutters onto the floor, and begins to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that." Harry says going over to it.

‘Nah let him,” I say shrugging, “it’ll probably wake the giant up.”

It didn’t. 

And after a few minutes of this, Harry clearly feels somewhat sympathetic for the coat, so he tries to wave the owl out of the way but it snaps its beak fiercely at him, and then carries on ravaging the coat.

“Well done bro,” I snicker and he playfully swots me. 

"Hagrid!" he shouts, "There's an owl--"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.  
I get the sense that the giant is not a morning person.  
Interesting...

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Everything was in this bloody coat.  
We spend around five minutes looking through it before the gatekeeper takes pity on us.

"Give him five Knuts," he said sleepily, and we turn to look at him.

"Knuts?" I ask. Surely the currency in his world wasn’t the things non-magic people eat? If it was, then you’d think this wizard society would make sure humans- no, muggles, wouldn’t eat them.

"The little bronze ones," he clarifies a moment later and Harry pulls out a handful of coins.

He counts out five little bronze coins, and the owl hold out his leg so he could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then it flies off through the open window.

Hagrid yawns loudly, making us both look at him. He sits up, and stretches, before grinning at us.

"Best be off, Harry, Ophelia, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

"Um - Hagrid?"

"Mm?" says Hagrid, who’s pulling on his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money - and you heard Uncle Vernon last night... he won't pay for us to go and learn magic."

“He’s right,” I mumble, but then an idea springs to mind. “Does the school have a budget then? Something to cover the costs of kids like us?”

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. He also gives me a confused expression and I wonder if anyone’s actually asked him that before. Come to think of it, how many kids had this guy picked up before us? "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yehs anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed--" Harry starts but the giant cuts him off.

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold -- an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" I ask, eating a sausage. He was right- it was nice cold.  
Really nice in fact.  
Then again, I’m probably saying that because I didn’t cook it. 

I take another bite.

No, I’m definitely saying that ‘cause I didn’t cook it. 

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

My mouth falls open and Harry drops the bit of sausage he’s holding.

"Goblins?" he splutters.

"Yeah - so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry, Ophelia. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe -- 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you - gettin' things from Gringotts - knows he can trust me, see."

“Duly noted,” I say dryly, but he pays no attention and instead gets all of his things together.  
"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

We follow Hagrid out onto the rock.

The only thing we can see on the water is Uncle Vernon’s crappy little rowboat. How did this guy even get here? 

"How did you get here?" Harry asks, looking around for another boat and I nod, curious.  
Was there a teleporting spell that he used?

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?" I respond increduously, not expecting that for an answer. 

How the hell was he able to fly in the middle of a storm, when lightning strikes the highest object? 

"Yeah -- but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

He motions towards the boat and we get in.

How were the Dursleys going to get back?

Ah, screw ‘em. They’d been lying to us for years anyway...

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry another of his sideways looks. Why was it always him who he gave these looks to? 

"If I was ter - er - speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry and I nod, both of us eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and we speed off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asks on the way and the giant turns to look at him.

"Spells - enchantments," said Hagrid casually, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way - Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

We sit in silence.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" I ask before I could stop myself.

"'Course," snorted Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

Seriously, who the hell was this Dumbledore? And why the hell was the giant so obsessed with him?

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?" I asks, trying to divert my attention away from Dumbledore.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?" We ask at the same time before grinning at each other.

"Why? Blimey, Harry, Ophelia, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passerbys stared a lot at Hagrid as we walked through the little town to the station and I couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry? Ophelia? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"  
Again, who the hell was Dumbledore? And why did he decide to let this wizard giant go to the human-no, muggle world?

We reached the station and there was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to me, the taller of the Potter twins, to buy tickets for the three of us.

People stared more than ever on the train and again, I couldn’t blame them. Hagrid had decided to take up two seats and sat there knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.  
I didn’t want to ask.

"Still got yer letter, Harry, Ophelia?" he asked suddenly as he counted stitches.

We both nod, getting out our letters.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

I get out my list whilst Harry opens the second part of the letter- I guess he’d been too excited to remember to open the whole letter in the first place...

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud.

“It’s London,” I respond, looking at my twin increduously. It was common knowledge that London was the heart of the country. If you couldn’t find something there then it wasn’t available in the UK. That’s what one of Dudley’s dumb friends had said a year ago- It was the only time he’d ever had a point, so I made sure to remember it.

"If yeh know where to go," added Hagrid quickly and I wondered- not for the first time, where the hell this guy was from.  
His accent sounded awfully northern. 

Then again, I had only met one northerner in my life- my year 3 teacher Mrs Richardson, so I doubted my assessment of his accent was entirely accurate.

We had never been to London before and although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary- non-magical way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he remarked to us as we climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

“Miserably,” I respond sarcastically and Harry bites down a laugh, knowing that Hagrid had been serious.

An advantage we had though was that Hagrid was so huge, he parted the crowd easily so all we had to do was keep close behind him. We passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. It was just ordinary street upon street that were full of ordinary people.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, and I have to grab Harry to stop him from walking into the giant. "The Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

Not to us.

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub and if Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, neither of us would have noticed it was even there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. 

Was there some sort of spell that prohibited them from seeing? 

Before I could ask, Hagrid had steered them inside.

You know, for a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. Did wizards not like to drink? 

A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of something that didn’t look appealing to me. One of them was smoking from a long pipe- like the blue caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland (We’d watched it in class one rainy day). 

A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender and I wonder if he was one of the pub’s regulars.

The low buzz of chatter stopped when we walked in.

It was clear almost immediately that everyone seemed to know who Hagrid was; they waved and smiled at him. The bartender even reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

So this gamekeeper was a drunk then? What was this school even like?!

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder. I awkwardly stand next to him and try to give a small smile to everyone- but I’m pretty sure it comes out as more like a grimace than anything else.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, looking between my twin and I, "is this - can this be - ?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent and were all just staring at us.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry and Ophelia Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward us and seized our hands, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr and Miss Potter, welcome back."

We look at each other, unsure of what to say.

Everyone was looking at us. 

The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.

And Hagrid? 

Well he was beaming.

I didn’t get why.  
Who wants this sort of attention for something they didn’t even do? Or rather in Harry’s case, had no recollection of doing?

For a moment everything was silent.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and we find ourselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hands - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr and Miss Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry suddenly as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

And he didn’t think to tell me? Wow, what a great twin I have...

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!" we shook hands again and again - Doris Crockford in particular kept coming back for more.

“You never told me about that,” I state between handshakes, a very fake smile plastered on my face. He rubs his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Ophelia, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potters," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping our hands, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" I ask politely and his face falls.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," he mutters as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potters?" He laughs nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

How would this man be able to teach us how to defend ourselves when he seemed to be scared of his own shadow?

After around 10 minutes, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the rabble- although I was pretty convinced that his first few attempts had been half-hearted.

"Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Ophelia"

Doris Crockford shook our hands one last time (one more time and I would have punched him) and Hagrid led us through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. 

"Told yeh, didn't I?” Hagrid said to the two of us, grinning. “Told yeh yous was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh - mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

I wonder if we could still finish each other’s sentences- we used to when we were younger. It used to freak people out- and I hoped it would work on Hagrid too, because quite frankly, he was pissing me off.

"Is he always...” I start off.

“...that nervous?" Harry finishes.

Yup, still got it.

It worked as well. Hagrid looked a tad unnerved before he continued.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag - never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject - now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Did all magical creatures exist then in the Wizarding World?

"Three up... two across... " Hagrid mutters, counting the bricks for some reason. "Right, stand back, Harry, Ophelia."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella and a small hole appeared. It grew wider and wider, and a second later they were facing an archway- large enough even for Hagrid, that led onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at our astonishment. 

We stepped through the archway and both watched as the archway instantly disappeared when we had passed it.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. 

Cauldrons -  
All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. 

I get out my list and tap Hagrid, pointing at the sign.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

We have money?

“What a way to spend a birthday,” Harry mumbles, and I nod next to him.

Both of us are trying our hardest to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy- presumably from the owls. Several boys, around our age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," we heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - the fastest ever!"  
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments neither of us had ever seen before- not even me, who prided herself on knowing things that no one else knew.  
Windows were stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

"Gringotts," said Hagrid suddenly.  
We had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was - was that a...?

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as we walked up the white stone steps towards him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry, who was easily the shortest person in their class at St Grogory’s. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. 

Where now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid, and I nod in agreement, briefly wondering whether or not everything in this new world was going to be as fancy and poetic as the engravings had been.

A pair of goblins showed us through the massive silver doors, and we were now in a vast marble hall. 

About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these.

Hagrid, Harry and I made for the counter. Or rather, Hagrid made for it, and Harry and I, unsure of what else to do, awkwardly followed him.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry and Miss Ophelia Potter’s safe."

"You have their key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose, and as someone whose books were constantly messed up by Dudley, I could relate.  
Harry, instead, watched the goblin on their right weigh a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

I couldn’t blame him. A single ruby cost more than the money the Dursleys had used to keep us alive. 

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Seven hundred and thirteen? How many vaults were there in this place?

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin, and once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, we followed Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Then why did he mention it in front of us, two 11 year olds? You know the longer we stayed around the gatekeeper, the more convinced I was that he wasn’t the brightest of the bunch.

Griphook held the door open for us, and instead of there being marble, we were now in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and I noticed that there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward us. We climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty due to his size - but were off in no time.

At first, we just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. It was going too fast for me to try and remember, so I just didn’t bother. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. 

I wondered what spell had been cast on this cart to do that, because quite frankly, this was awesome.

My eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but I kept them wide open, not wanting to miss a thing. 

Once along the way, Harry and I thought we saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but were too late to see, instead, plunging even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

How did he know the difference between the two words, yet did not know how to spell the name ‘Voldemort’? Honestly, this giant baffled me...

However he did look very green, so I try my best to stay as far away from him as I possibly can, not wanting any sick to land on me when it inevitably comes out of his mouth.

When the cart stops at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid quickly got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. 

A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, we gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver, and heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All ours - it was incredible. 

The Dursleys clearly couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from us faster than it would have taken us to blink. 

How often had they complained how much it cost them to keep us alive? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to us, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped the two of us pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." 

“Can I have some more?” I ask and at his look, explain myself.

“I want to buy some extra books.”

After all, I was pretty sure that was the only way I could find out more about this world.

I managed to get a few more Galleons and Sickles before Hagrid insisted that I’d taken enough.

He then turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

We were going even deeper now and gathering speed- so it was clear that his previous statement was bullshit. 

The air became colder and colder as we hurtled round tight corners. 

We went rattling over an underground ravine and Harry decides to lean over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom. For a moment, my heart stops and I am certain that he is going to fall out, but Hagrid luckily noticed, and with a groan he pulls him back by the scruff of his neck.

“Idiot!” I shriek at him, and if I hadn’t been holding on for dear life, I would have cuffed him ‘round the head immediately.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly, to which we do.  
He strokes the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melts away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked, dodging to avoid my fists.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault then, of that we both were sure, and we lean forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least - but at first it was empty. 

Or at least it looked so. 

I noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. 

Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. 

Harry and I longed to know what it was, but we knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later we stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. 

And we didn't know where to run first now that we had a bag full of money, and places to go to spend it. 

We didn't need to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that we were holding more money than we'd had in our whole lives - more money than maybe even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Ophelia, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." 

We nodded and I try to not think about the fact that Hagrid had just left us for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron as we make our way to the store.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dears?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry and I on two different stools next to him, and she and a third witch slipped a long robe over our heads, beginning to pin it to the right length. Whilst they did this, materials formed in front of us and although we were confused at first, our confusion began to wane when it was clear that our uniforms were being made- a colourless tie, a jumper, a shirt, a cardigan and trousers for Harry, and the same for me- however instead of trousers, I received a skirt.

"Hello," said the boy to the two of us, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

I nod.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll convince father to get me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

He reminded me of Dudley, yet at the same time didn’t. Maybe it’s ‘cause of the way he carelessly talked about his parents, as if everyone had them and were loved as much as he was. Or maybe it was ‘cause he clearly didn’t have to work hard at anything in his life. 

Then again, if this were Dudley, he wouldn’t have talked to the two of us. No, it wouldn’t have mattered if we were going to the same school- if you look weak, he’d hit you. Simply as.

No, this boy wasn’t Dudley, he was just excited and expected every wizard or witch to have a life similar to his own.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

I shake my head.

I didn’t realise that brooms were used. Wasn’t that a tad stereotypical?

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry repeated.  
What an odd word the boy had said.  
What was Quidditch? 

Was it anything liked football?  
I know Dudley and Uncle Vernon liked to watch it- and we played it once at school!

I try to imagine a football game between wizards, but find I can’t- their robes would undoubtedly get in the way and I hide my laugh with a cough, hoping the boy hasn’t taken any offense.

"I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, and I stay silent, knowing that I really needed to read some books on the Wizarding World. We were stepping into an entirely new culture, and I was not going in blind.

Although I did feel some dread at the idea of being put into Houses; It felt like we were going to a Grammar school, instead of a magic school.

How would they sort us anyway? Through tests? Or through how much magic we could use?

The boy continues before I could think about this any more. And for that, I’m grateful.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry, and I raise an eyebrow at him. 

Could you even leave the school?

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. I hoped he wasn’t referring to who I thought would be standing out in a street full of wizards, and follow his line of sight.

To my embarrassment, Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and I and pointing at three large ice creams to show why he couldn't come in.

At least this meant people like Hagrid weren’t common even in the Wizarding World, so that’s a plus I guess. 

I don’t think I could have coped with two Hagrid’s.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, who sounded pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

Servant? What was this school, a Castle?

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry, and I sigh, noticing the displeasure in his tone.

Harry had always been fiercely protective of those he loved. And even though we had only known him for less than 24 hours, I guess Hagrid had wormed his way onto that admittedly small list.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Well that was rude. This guy’s social skills seemed worse than mine, and I’ve been living under the stairs for most of my life! 

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer, and I frown. Who did this boy think he was to be talking to my brother like that?

"Why is he with you?” The boy continues, “Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry.

"Oh, sorry," said the other- although he sounded like he cared about something else, "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

I doubt that’s what he meant, sweet brother. 

However, I didn’t actually know what he meant, so it was probably best to keep my mouth shut lest I come across as an idiot.

Seriously, I really need to find that book store....

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same and they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Were surnames really that important in this world?

This whole experience kind of felt like I’d gone back in time to the 1700s, where names were everything, but seeing no harm in saying anything I open my mouth to tell him, hoping that Potter meant something.

Although I don’t know why I was hoping as from the reactions from the residents of the Leaky Cauldron, the surname Potter really did mean something here.

Madam Malkin however interrupts. "You’re both done, my dears." 

She multiplies the finished uniforms and goes off to presumably charge us.

And so Harry and I hop down from our footstools.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the boy.

He wasn’t unkind but he wasn’t warm either. No, instead he sounded completely neutral, as in he hadn’t decided whether we were allies or enemies yet.

I think that’s why I continue with what I was going to say anyway.

“Potter.” 

The boy finally turns to look solely at me- he’d been looking at the both of us the entire time.

“Potter?” he repeats, shocked, “As in Harry and Ophelia Potter?” 

We nod, although Harry does give me a glare- which was probably due continuing to talk to this boy who he clearly doesn’t like.

“And yours?” I ask, mentally telling myself to check it in any book I get on Wizarding culture in the bookstore.

“Malfoy,” He smiles, clearly proud of his surname. 

Well this guy was clearly an aristocrat.

Of course, I don’t know much about the Wizarding World, so I didn’t know if this mattered or not. Hell, for all I knew about this culture, an aristocrat could be the lowest social status given to wizardkind.  
This world wasn’t the muggle one, and I doubted I’d get very far if I thought of it as such.

My twin walks away then, no doubt intending to get as far away from the conversation as he physically could. 

“Nice to meet you Mr Malfoy,” I says politely before I leave, “see you at Hogwarts. Maybe we’ll both get into Slytherin.”

I tried to make it seem like I’d known what he was talking about, and from the gleam in his eyes, I think I convinced him, which was great.

I hated to look like an idiot.

Then I follow after my twin, wondering how on earth I was going to learn about all of this culture before we went off to Hogwarts in a month’s time.

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought us (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).  
I struggled to eat it, not really liking the foodstuff.  
Of course, I can’t tell Hagrid that- it’s rude and besides, I do need to eat more.  
Whilst in the recent months I’d had more to eat that Harry had, I still was underfed and thus malnourished.

"What's up?" asked Hagrid and I open my mouth, ready to lie and say that I’m too excited to eat my food. Of course it was only a partial lie because we hadn’t gone to the bookstore yet- the place I wanted to go to the most. However, I follow his line of sight and notice that he was staring at Harry, not me. 

Well, he did need the attention, so I guess I don’t really mind.

"Nothing," Harry said and I wince at the falseness of that statement. 

He really was a bad liar...

We stop to buy parchment and quills and Harry cheers up a bit when he finds a bottle of ink that changes color as you write.  
I had bought extra parchment and quills, and when Hagrid asked, explained that it was to practise my handwriting before I went off to Hogwarts as obviously, I had never written with a quill before. 

I’d been met with a bewildered expression, and had wondered, for what was perhaps the hundredth time today, What kind of world were we entering?

When we had left the shop, Harry had asked, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

So that’s what had been on his mind then.

"Blimey, you too! I keep forgettin' how little yeh know - not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry and he told the giant about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's. 

Although from the way he told it, you’d think that Malfoy was the worst human being to ever walk the Earth- a title I liked to reserve to Adolf Hitler, although this Voldemort was starting to become a great contender for it. 

"- and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in-"

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were - he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles - look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?" I ask, curious.

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like - like football in the Muggle world - everyone follows Quidditch - played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls - sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" I continue, glad to finally be getting some information about this world. Even if it wasn’t very good info.

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but-"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily. 

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

Didn’t that seem a little harsh? 

If that were true, then that meant 25 percent of wizards and witches in Britain- One in four people- would be evil. 

It was at that moment that I started to think that Hagrid wasn’t a very reliable source of information.

"Vol-, sorry -You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

Great, so Hogwarts also accepted the person who killed my parents. Maybe Hagrid hadn’t been wrong about the bad witches and wizards part...

We buy our school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. 

I’d like to think that even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

I however was allowed to buy the books that I’d found: An Introduction to Wizarding Society by Alined Inane, Quidditch Through the Ages by Jan Hearken, Books on each of the 4 Hogwarts Houses, an introductory book to each of the courses we have to take, and finally, quite a few notebooks. I’m not sure what I’ll use them for, but it feels important to keep them- just in case.

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but we did get two nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope.

Then we visit the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for us. 

Harry examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each whilst I stared at the minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked our lists- Harry’s to be specific, again. 

I suspected he preferred my twin to me, and that’s fine, the feeling was mutual.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yehs a birthday present."

I felt myself go red.

"You don't have to-" Harry objected.

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animals. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, we left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn't stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell. I, in contrast had a beautiful Barn Owl, who was wide awake and was staring at Diagon Alley with a look of wonder and amazement in his eyes that I was sure mirrored my own. 

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly, and I wondered if he was unused to people showing their appreciation. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yehs gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was the shop that I knew Harry had been really looking forward to going to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as we stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. For some reason, the back of my neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic, and I wondered if in a couple of centuries or two, our magic would have joined it, unsettling a different customer.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. We jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before us, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," we said in sync.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry and Ophelia Potter." It wasn't a question. "You look exactly like your mother,” he said to me first, before looking at Harry, “and you have her eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to the two of us. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy, and it made me trust him as far as I could throw him. 

Somehow he managed to stare at the both of us at the same time, which made it even creepier.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and us were now almost nose to nose. We could see ourselves reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. He left me alone, but I still felt unnerved by him. 

How long would it take me to get back to the Dursleys? At least there weren’t weird old men in Little Whinging.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head and then, to our relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. I think we both noticed that he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke. I smiled. Well at least this inept Ministry couldn’t take a wizard’s magic away completely.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now - which one first? -Mr. Potter Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Mr. Ollivander then flitted around the shelves, taking down boxes as he went past.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try--"

Harry tried - but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. I’m pretty sure he just liked a challenge.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand and his reaction to this one seemed different from the other wands. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious...Ms. Potter, come here please."

I came over and stood next to Mr. Ollivander. He withdrew a dark colored wooden wand with what looked liked vines around the hilt of it. He handed it to me and it was like something pulled at my heart down to my fingertips. Letting out a breath, I gave it a flick, causing a burst of wind to fly in. "Wow..."   
I tried not to feel disappointed that it had taken him a lot less time to find my wand than it had with Harry’s.  
Mr. Ollivander kept repeating, "Curious... curious..."  
He put our wand back into their boxes and wrapped them in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious...

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

And so Mr. Ollivander fixed us with his pale stare.

Thanks Harry.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. The same wand that you hold, Ms. Potter. The same tree, even from the same branch. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. terrible, yes, but great. And Miss Potter, I expect great things from you too. I'm sure you will surprise us all one day."

I frowned. I wasn't sure I liked this Ollivander much. We paid seven gold Galleons each for our wands, and he bowed us from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as we made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. No one spoke as we walked down the road; I pretended not to notice how much people were gawking at us on the Underground, laden as we were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the owls were asleep in their cage on our laps. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; and Harry seemed to only realize where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said and I thank him immediately, my face red from embarrassment due to my stomach deciding now would be the right time to growl.

He bought us both a hamburger and we sat down on plastic seats to eat them. For some reason- I hadn’t noticed until this point- everything looked so strange.

"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid, and I turns to look at my twin, who seems to be unsure of what to say.

I didn’t know why he looked so glum. We'd just had the best birthday of their lives!  
And yet - he just chewed his hamburger, looking miserable and contemplating as he did so.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," he said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry - I mean, the night my parents died."

Ah, well it looked as if we’d been having the same thoughts, just at different times of the day.

Hagrid leaned across the table to make sure my brother was looking at him. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows I noticed that he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll both have a great time at Hogwarts - I did - still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped us on to the train that would take us back to the Dursleys, then handed us an envelope each.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -King's Cross -it's all on yer tickets. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with either of yer’s owl, they'll know where to find me... See yeh soon, Harry, Ophelia."

The train pulled out of the station. And Harry said that he wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; so we rose in our seats and pressed our noses against the window, but we blinked and Hagrid had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, just wanted to clarify on something.
> 
> For this fic, I'll be using a mixture of the books and movies as I do believe the school uniform does work better instead of their just being robes- as just having robes makes it more confusing to identify people from different houses, and it would just be confusing for everyone. Like, the teachers could very well accidentally take points away from the wrong house because this one Ravenclaw looked like a Slytherin and vice versa. Do you see what I mean?
> 
> Also, the entire previous chapter was the prologue, and as we have reached the story, it is now in 1st Person instead of 3rd.


	3. A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Slytherin! Harry's sister AU where Pansy Parkinson isn't a straight up bitch.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Chapter 2

Harry and I had differing views on our remaining month with the Dursleys.

He thought that it went terribly - due to the fact that they acted as though any chair with him in it were empty - I considered that a step up to them stopping him from sitting in that seat in the first place.

For me, it was great. 

Not only did I have a lot less chores to do - I still did the cooking (Over the years, I found that I’d come to enjoy doing it, and I think Aunt Petunia secretly enjoyed not having to do all the work, even if I was a witch.)

However, I got a lot more free time than usual due to the fact that they did’t use us for chores anymore.

They were too scared to.

I think both of us knew that this fear wasn’t going to last forever. 

However, what mattered now was that we could take advantage of it!

And so I used the spare time to learn and best prepare for this new world. 

I’d started off by learning to write with a quill. 

It just felt like something I should learn whilst waiting to go to Hogwarts and after the first few attempts, I was glad that I’d had the foresight to practise beforehand - It took a week of doing it non-stop for me finally get the hang of it.

Harry was still struggling with it, but due to practise beforehand, at least his quill writing was legible.

After that, I had started to read the books I’d bought. 

The books on each of the Four Houses were useful, and I figured out quickly that Harry and I were going to end up in Gryffindor - as that was the House our parents and almost everyone in our family had been in.

However, a downside with these books was that they gave no indication as to how we would be placed into the 4 different Houses.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if they just randomly allocated us to a house. 

It made little sense, but the concept of wizards also didn’t make any sense - To me at least.

The introductory books to the subjects I was taking were beneficial as well, as they helped me to understand the required textbooks without needing someone else - more or less a teacher, to explain it to me. 

I’d looked through all of them during the remaining time we had and after careful deliberation, had decided that the most interesting subjects were Herbology and Potions (With Charms coming third, and Transfiguration coming last)  
And so I’d spent more time than I would normally going through the materials I’d had for the two subjects, trying to memorise ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’ by Phyllida Spore and ‘Magical Drafts and Potions’ by Arsenius Jigger.

It was quite fun, and I would often write (with my quill) in my notebook, making additional notes or comments that I could ask the teachers about when I went off to Hogwarts.

However, the most important thing I think I had done over the month, was reading through the book I had on Wizarding Culture. That book was tremendously helpful, and I felt a lot more prepared for the Wizarding World when I finished it. 

It also provided good insight into different Wizarding families.

It turns out that the name Malfoy is very big in Wizarding Society, with the Head of the House - Lucius Malfoy, having a seat on the Wizengamot, the magical Parliament.

One thing I appreciated about the book was that it constantly updated, so I had quickly found out that the heir to the Malfoy seat was most likely the one Harry and I had talked to at Madame Malkins (I’d asked the book for the names of all the heirs entering our year, and he was the only Malfoy who turned up.)  
That was both amazing and terrifying.

Using this book, I’d also decided on a name for my owl: Dorean. 

He was named after Dorea Potter, a witch who was mentioned in the book on Wizarding Society. Apparently, she had been a Black beforehand and was the first Slytherin to go into the House of Potter, and so was the only Potter to not be in Gryffindor.

Harry had also decided on a name for his owl: Hedwig. 

Over the next few weeks, we tend to lay on our bed and read late into the night, as Hedwig and Dorean swoop in and out of the open window as they pleased. 

It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because they kept bringing back dead mice and if she saw it, she’d probably have a fit.

Every night before we went to sleep, Harry and I would also take turns to tick off another day on the piece of paper we had pinned to the wall, counting down the days to September the first, and as the date approaches, we - well, I, allocate different jobs for us to do so that our first journey to Hogwarts can go as smoothly as possible. 

I give myself the job of packing, and make sure that our bags are packed with our things, not wanting to leave this all until last minute - something that Harry would have undoubtedly done if he were in charge.

Harry volunteers to sort out our travel to King’s Cross Station - which, whilst it was probably the easiest part of our preparations, I wasn’t going to object to.

It’s not like Uncle Vernon could say no to dropping us off in London. He was most likely still scared that he’d invoke the wrath of the Wizarding World if he didn’t take us to the Station, plus we’d given him plenty of time to make sure that he’d be free to drop us off.

On August 31st - a day before we were off to Hogwarts - we hit our first problem.

“Harry?” I ask, ticking off a list in my notebook.

“Mmm?” he responds, his mouth full of the toast that he brought upstairs. 

Another positive thing - the Dursleys didn’t care where we took their food, so now we could eat proper food in the room and not worry about Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon finding out, and banning us from eating.

“What time did Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon say they wanted us to be up tomorrow?”

At his confused look, I clarify, thinking he’s just being a bit stupid today - somedays, he’s just like this.

“So we can get to King’s Cross Station in time?”

He gets up and hurries downstairs, and I stare after him.

You had one job Harry.

You see, this is why I was doing the packing.

Dudley screams downstairs, and I wait for my brother to come back and tell me the news. 

I still doubted our uncle would say no, but the chances were now significantly higher than what they’d been before.

“Rose,” he says walking back in, and I look up, irritated. 

My name was Ophelia and I tell him that for what must be the hundredth time, although there was no true venom behind my words and we both knew it.

He’d grown up most of our lives thinking that my name was Rose so it’s not like I had expected him to start calling me Ophelia overnight.  
Also, he was trying. 

Unlike a certain muggle family downstairs...

“Are they dropping us off then?”

“Yes but-”

“But what?” 

Did they want us to do more chores? 

“Have you looked at your ticket?”

Sighing, I get out my ticket and almost immediately see our next problem. 

Where on earth was Platform 9 and 3 quarters?

I try not to think about it that night, as I knew I needed to get some sleep.

It just wouldn’t do to look ill and sleep-deprived tomorrow, as that was most likely the first impression most of my peers were going to get of me, and, as much as I and Harry didn’t like it, we still had a reputation to uphold.

Harry wakes me up at five o'clock the next morning with his constant fidgeting - one of the cons to sharing a bed with someone.

At my confused look, he quickly explains to me that he’s too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. 

I find that I can’t go back to sleep either, and just decide to mock glare at him instead.

He gets up to change first and pulls on his jeans, keeping to our initial agreement that we shouldn’t walk into the station in our wizard's robes - there’d be too many questions.

We'd change on the train instead.

I was sure that many other kids did the same thing - After all, wouldn’t it have made the news or something if they hadn’t.

I make sure to check our Hogwarts list yet again to double check that we had everything we needed, saw to it that Hedwig and Dorean were shut safely in their cages - much to their displeasure. Then we try to pass the time in our room, playing with some of Dudley’s old toys as we wait for the Dursleys to get up. 

Two hours later, our huge, heavy trunks had been loaded into the Dursleys' car and the five of us were heading off towards London. Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to me - who apparently trusted me more than Harry - despite the fact that I threatened to burn him. 

I didn’t get why the Dursleys loved me more - No. Hated me less than my twin.

We reach King's Cross at half past ten and Uncle Vernon dumps our trunks onto two separate carts, wheeling them it into the station for us. 

Well that was kind of him. 

I immediately grow suspicious.

Why did he do that?

Uncle Vernon stops dead then, and faces the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, boy, Rose.” I scowl but I doubt he notices. “Platform nine - platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

So he did it to be an asshole?

That made... a lot of sense actually.

Unfortunately, an asshole he may be, but he was quite right.

There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

Well.

My first instinct was to run at the platform, but logically I knew that I would hit the bricks and look like an idiot, my least favourite thing to be.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile and he left without another word. 

We watch the Dursleys drive away, laughing.

Well, we probably looked like fools to them, with our tickets to the fictional Platform 9 and 3 Quarters. 

It still hurt though, to know that they’d drive away just like that instead of... Who am I kidding? It’s the Dursleys.

“What are we going to do?” A panicked Harry asks me and I shrug, genuinely confused at the whole situation.

I doubt Hagrid - The Big Friendly Giant, would have given us false tickets, and we both knew from Diagon Alley that there were secret entrances into the Magical world.  
However, it’s not like we knew where or how to access said entrances.

What were we going to do? 

We were starting to attract a lot of funny looks from passerbys, due to Dorean and Hedwig and I glare at them, daring them to say something as I try to think of a solution. 

Maybe we could ask someone?

We stop a passing guard, but didn't dare to mention platform nine and three-quarters, knowing that he would laugh at us - just like the Dursleys had done. 

However, the guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry and I couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though we were being stupid or contrary on purpose. 

Sounding desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one and in the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters, and I fought the urge to punch him.

According to the large clock over the arrivals board, we had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts but we had no idea how to do it, which sucked.  
We were also stranded in the middle of a station with trunks that we could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and two large owls.

Why the fuck didn’t Hagrid tell us what to do to get to the platform? 

He clearly forgot to have told us something, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. 

I wonder if the Dursleys will come back for us when we miss the train, before dismissing the thought.

Of course they won’t.

They hate us.

Harry suggests that he could get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten, and though I know we’d get in trouble for it, I was sorely tempted to just let him. 

It’s not like we had any other ideas.

Luckily, before we got in trouble with the Ministry of Magic (as I doubt this situation would be considered an emergency,) it was at that moment a strange group of people passed just behind us and we caught a few words of what they were saying.

" - packed with Muggles, of course - "

Muggles? 

We turn around to look at our potential saviors. 

The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair which was somehow brighter than my own. 

Each of them were pushing a trunk like ours in front of them - and they also had an owl.

We look at each other before coming to the same conclusion.

And so, my heart hammering, we push our carts after them. 

They stop so we do as well, staying just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother to them.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl who I hadn’t noticed before. She was also red-headed, and was holding the woman’s hand, 

"Mum, can't I go... "

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten, and we watched, both of us careful not to blink in case we missed it - but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists come swarming in front of us and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

What had just happened?

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. 

His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone - but again, how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier - and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't there anymore.

There was nothing else for it.

They were walking through the wall, as preposterous as it sounded.

“Excuse me,” I call out to the plump woman, trying to sound as polite as I could.

“Hello, dears,” she says with a smile. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too.”

She points at the last and youngest of her sons. 

“Yes,” my twin says. “The thing is - the thing is, we don't know how to - ”

“How to get onto the platform?” she asks kindly, and we nod.

“Not to worry, Sweethearts,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, both of you go now before Ron.”

"Er - okay," we say.

Harry goes before me, and I watch as he disappears through the wall.

Then it’s my turn.

I push my trolley around and stare at the barrier and admittedly, It did look very solid.

And so I start to walk towards it.

People jostle me on their way to platforms nine and ten and so I walk more quickly, trying to ignore my fears. 

I wasn’t going to smash right into that barrier - Harry hadn’t.

I won’t be in trouble - Harry wasn’t.

And leaning forward on my cart, I break into a heavy run and the barrier was coming nearer and nearer.

I couldn’t stop - the cart was out of control - I was a foot away, and so I close my eyes, ready for the crash...

But it doesn't come.

And I kept on running. 

I open my eyes to see a scarlet steam engine waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, Eleven O'clock.

Behind me there’s a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. 

Finding my twin, I lock eyes with him, both of us sporting matching grins.

We had finally done it.

Smoke from the engine drifts over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour run between our legs. 

I felt a pang of envy looking at them; I’d always wanted a cat. 

But at the same time, I wouldn’t swap Dorean for the world.

Owls hoot to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. It was amusing to imagine them complaining to each other about being trapped in a cage, so I snicker, causing Harry to look at me in alarm.

Maybe he thought I was finally going mad.

The first few carriages were already packed with students with some hanging out of the window to talk to their families and some fighting over seats. 

Apparently seats were important here.

Maybe there was a sort of hierarchy on the train? 

I told myself I’d try to figure out this at Hogwarts, but for now, let’s just focus on the fact that we’re finally going there.

We push our carts off down the platform in search of empty seats and on the way, pass a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," The old woman sighs tiredly, as if he’d done this a million times before.

We also pass a boy with dreadlocks, who was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifts the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shriek and yell as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg - most likely a tarantula. 

I didn’t know tarantulas were allowed in the school...

The fact that there was one was both interesting and terrifying.

We press on through the crowd until we find an empty compartment near the end of the train, and so we put Hedwig and Dorean inside first, before starting to try and shove our trunks toward the train door - to no avail.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins we'd followed through the barrier. 

I grin at them.

My knights in shining armor.

"Yes, please," I pant, secretly wondering how the hell they had found us.

Then again, I doubt red hair was common around here, so they’d be bound to pay attention to another redhead - even if I wasn’t their sibling.

“Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!”

With the twins' help, our trunks were at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes, and I just give them another smile - one that hopefully showed just how grateful I was.

"What's that?" asks one of the twins suddenly, pointing at my twin’s lightning scar.

"Blimey," says the other twin, looking between us. "Are you...?”

"They are," says the first twin. "Aren't you?" he adds to us, and I sigh knowing where this is going.

"What?" asks Harry, confused.

"Harry and Ophelia Potter,” chorus the twins.

"Oh, that," said Harry. "I mean, yes, we are"

The two boys gawk at us, and Harry turns red from the attention. I doubted I was doing much better, unused to such focus.

Hopefully this would die down after a month or two at Hogwarts. 

Then, to our relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

They wink at us and then, the twins hop off the train.

We sit down on opposite sides, next to the window where, half hidden, we could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. 

It felt a bit odd, but I think both of us just wanted to see how families interacted with each other.

Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

“Ron, you've got something on your nose.”

The youngest boy tries to jerk out of the way, but she grabs him and begins to rub the end of his nose. 

Would Harry have been that boy if our parents had lived?

"Mum - get off!" He wriggles free and the twins laugh.

"Aaah, has ‘ickle Ronnie got something on his nosie?" says one of the twins teasingly.

Would we have had a younger brother to tease if Voldemort hadn’t gone after our parents?

"Shut up," Says Ron

"Where's Percy?" Asks their mother.

Would Lily Potter have been like this with her children?

Or would she have been like Aunt Petunia - spoiling us rotten until we were just like Dudley?

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy comes striding into sight. 

He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and I notice a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

Was it to remind people which sibling he was?

I had to bite back a snort; he looked like an idiot.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he says impatiently, "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves - "

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" asks one of the twins mockingly. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it." That was the other twin. 

"Once - "

"Or twice - "

"A minute - "

"All summer - "

"Oh, shut up," huffs Percy the Prefect.

I wonder if Harry and I could be like those twins at Hogwarts? 

No, I decide a second later, we were too different. 

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" asks one of them.

"Because he's a prefect," says their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term -send me an owl when you get there."

She kisses Percy on the cheek and he leaves. Then she turns to the twins.  
"Now, you two - this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've -you've blown up a toilet or - "

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," says Ron again, and I giggle at the scene.

He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

One of the twins - I don’t know which one, maybe during the year I’d learn the difference, looks in our general direction and I quickly stop, vaguely wondering if he’d heard my giggling. 

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Yes, he had.

We both lean back quickly so they couldn't see us looking at them and Harry mock glares at me, 

"You know that black-haired boy and red-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who they are?"

"Who?"

"Harry and Ophelia Potter!"

We then hear the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see them, Mum, eh please...."

We weren’t an exhibit...

"You've already seen them, Ginny, and the poor twins aren't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is they really, Fred? How do you know?"

I decided that I liked this woman.

"Asked them. Saw his scar. It's really there - like lightning."

"Poor dears - no wonder they were alone, I wondered, and she was ever so polite when they asked how to get onto the platform."

I smile at that and Harry rolls his eyes.

What? It was nice to be praised.

"Never mind that, do you think they remember what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask them that, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though they need reminding of that on their first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounds.

"Hurry up!" their mother says, and the three boys clamber onto the train. They lean out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister begins to cry. 

Harry and I awkwardly look at each other.  
Imagine having that.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

From what I’d seen of him so far, I doubt he was.

The train begins to move. 

We see the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Then we watch the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounds the corner. 

Houses flashed past the window, and I feel a great leap of excitement.  
I didn't know what we were going to, but anything was better than the Dursleys, which were the only thing we’d left behind.

The door of the compartment slides open and the youngest redhead boy walks in.  
"Anyone sitting there?" he asks, pointing at the seat next to Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

We shake our heads and the boy sits down, most likely relieved. 

He glances at Harry and I before quickly looking out of the window and pretending he hadn't looked.

I notice that he still has a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

And I was glad for it - they seemed fun.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train - Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbles Ron, and I got the sense he didn’t like spiders much.

"Harry, Ophelia," says the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.”

"Bye," we respond, and I smile at them again - only this time, they notice.

They wear matching grins and wink at me before sliding the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harry and Ophelia Potter?" Ron blurts out and we nod.

"Oh - well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," says Ron. "And have you really got the, you know..."

He points at Harry's forehead.

And surprisingly, instead of getting angry, Harry pulls back his bangs to show his infamous lightning scar. 

Ron stares.

"So that's where You-Know-Who-”

"Yes, but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" asks Ron eagerly, and that rubs me the wrong way.

"Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

“Why are you so eager?” I ask, showing my annoyance. “Don’t you remember that our parents died?”

Ron goes quiet at that.  
He sits and stares at the two of us for a few moments.

Then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he quickly looks out of the window again. 

I feel slightly guilty for my outburst, but this popularity was starting to get on my nerves - people treating Harry and I as if we were an interactive museum exhibit.

"Are all your family wizards?" asks Harry suddenly, who appeared to find Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

"Er - Yes, I think so. I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know a lot of magic already," I say with a smile, showing that I wasn’t angry at him.

The Weasleys were a family that were mentioned in my book - so even though they were seen as ‘blood traitors,’ they must each know quite a bit of magic as after all, they were raised around it.

"I heard you both went to live with Muggles," asks Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible - ” Harry starts.

“ - Well, not all of them.” I interrupt.

“My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers. But instead I’m stuck with Ophelia.” 

He gives me a glare and so I stick my tongue out at him in return.

"Five," says Ron, and for some reason, he was looking gloomy. 

I don’t know why - I’d kill to have that large a family. 

"I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts.” He continues, “You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

I was gladder than ever Hagrid got us owls.  
If I’d had that, I’d have killed it a long time ago to put it out of it’s misery.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't afford - I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears go pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because then he went back to staring out of the window.

That was the second thing my book had said about the Weasleys - they didn’t have a lot of money. 

But I didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. 

Neither did Harry, as after all, we'd never had any money in our lives until a month ago, and he tells Ron all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. 

This seemed to cheer our new friend up.

"...and until Hagrid told us, we didn't know anything about being a wizard or about our parents or Voldemort"

Ron gasps.

"What?" asks Harry, clearly perplexed.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people - ”

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name, I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn.... I bet," he adds, voicing for the first time something that had probably been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

“You won’t be,” I reassure him quickly.

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

Ron joins me.

Whilst we had been talking, the train had carried us out of London.  
Now we were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. 

I get out a book to read as they talk, and then they were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past the window.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back our door and asks, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry and I - who hadn't had any breakfast, leap to our feet, but Ron's ears go pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. 

We go out into the corridor.

We had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, but now that our pockets were rattling with gold and silver, we were ready to buy as many Mars Bars and Flakes as we could carry - but the woman doesn't have Mars Bars, or Flakes. 

What she did have however, were Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things we had never seen in our lives. 

Not wanting to miss anything, we get some of everything and pay the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as we brought it all back in to the compartment and tip it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," says Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

I try a Cauldron Cake instead.

Ron takes out a lumpy package and unwraps it, constantly glancing at our food. There were four sandwiches inside. 

He pulls one of them apart and says, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," Harry says, holding up a pasty. "Go on - "

"You don't want this, it's all dry, she hasn't got much time."

"You know, with five of us." He adds quickly.

"Go on, have a pasty," says Harry quickly, and I smile at them, glad my twin’s making friends already. 

It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron and eating our way through all of mine and Harry's pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What are these?" Harry asks Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" 

"No," laughs Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know - Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect - famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

I decided then that I quite liked Ron; he didn’t expect us to know everything and was willing to explain it when we didn’t without sounding the least bit condescending.

Harry unwraps his Chocolate Frog and picks up the card which showed a man's face. He wore half - moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and moustache. 

Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" exclaims Harry and I turn, craning my neck to get a look at our headmaster.

You know what, I’m not surprised this is the man who sent Hagrid to get us - he looks like a fucking psycho.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" exclaims Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa - thanks.”

I take one as well.

"He's gone!" Harry exclaims and I look up from my card. 

I’d gotten Morgana Le Fay, which I was happy with - I hadn’t known she was an actual witch!

Did that mean Merlin was too?

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," says Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes stray to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," says Harry with a smile. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "Weird!"

Ron is more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry and I couldn't keep our eyes off them. 

Soon we had not only Dumbledore and 2 Morganas, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. We eventually tear our eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warns us. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor - you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger - flavored one once."

I highly doubt that snot tastes worse than spinach, but decided to not play nonetheless.

Ron meanwhile picks up a green jellybean, looks at it carefully, and bites into a corner.

"Bleaaargh - see? Sprouts."

The boys had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. 

I instead look out the window, where the countryside now was becoming wilder.  
The neat fields had gone and now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There’s a knock on the door of our compartment and the round-faced boy we had passed on platform nine and three quarters comes in. He looked tearful for some reason.

"Sorry," he says, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

Wasn’t this the second time he’d lost it?

When we shake our heads, he wails, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," I said, trying to sound comforting.

"Yes," says the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him..."

“We’ll let you know,” I promise.

He nods and then leaves.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," says Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," he continues in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummages around in his trunk and pulls out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

I doubted that the wand was supposed to still be in use. 

How poor were these Weasleys?

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway...”

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slides open again. 

The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she says. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," says Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she instead was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

I frown. 

That was kind of rude.

She sits down.

Ron looks somewhat taken aback.

"Er - all right."

He clears his throat, and I felt some pity for him.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waves his wand, but nothing happened. 

Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" asks the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard - I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.”

She said all this very fast.

I look at the boys, and felt some relief for my twin to see by Ron’s stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mutters.

"Harry Potter," said Harry- clearly unnerved by her.

I stare at her coolly unlike my twin and his friend.  
She wasn’t special; I had learnt the content too. “Ophelia Potter.”

"Are you really?" said Hermione, looking between the two of us. "I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

“I’m not surprised,” I mutter.

"Goodness, didn't you know,” she says, completely ignoring me, “I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione, and rage immediately builds up inside me.  
How dare she?

“Maybe we don’t want to be constantly reminded of our parents’ murder, Ms Granger,” I say icily. 

It goes quiet in the compartment for a few seconds and I notice everyone look at me worriedly.

Granger however, then continues as if nothing’s happened.

"Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And then she leaves, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. I nod in agreement. He throws his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell - George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asks Harry.

"Gryffindor," answers Ron and gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Again, this feels a tad harsh towards this house. But I don’t say anything.

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. 

He flops back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," says Harry randomly, I don’t know why. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

That was a good point. 

What did they do?

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," says Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles - someone tried to rob a high security vault."

We stare.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Well, so much for being impenetrable.

"What's your favourite Quidditch team?" Ron asks excitedly.

"Er - we don't know any," Harry confesses after a brief moment of silence.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world - " And he goes off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. 

I turn back to my book, not really caring about the sport.

I’d much prefer to read thank you very much.

Although, I had barely read through a chapter before the doors to the compartment open again. 

Three boys enter, and I recognize the middle one immediately: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop - the Malfoy boy.

He looks at us with interest, like a businessman would stare at a particularly rich investor. 

Although in this case, I guess the money was our popularity.

"Is it true?" he asks, and now I know what that drawling voice was - barely contained glee. "They're saying all down the train that Harry and Ophelia Potter's in this compartment. So it's you two, is it?"

"Yes," confirms Harry.

I just went back to reading as I’d already confirmed this back at Diagon Alley. 

Then again, this setting was a lot more public than getting robes fitted, so I could see why he’d want another admittance from us - the more witnesses were present, the more solid the claim.

Although the witnesses seemed more like bodyguards to me. 

Both of them looked like the classic evil henchmen in Dudley’s comics - from the build to the mean expressions on their faces.

They stood on either side of Malfoy, most likely to ensure he doesn’t get attacked by a wizard who doesn’t agree with his traditional Wizarding views.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he says carelessly, as if we had been waiting for introductions. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gives a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. 

What he was laughing at I had no idea but it did cause Draco Malfoy to look at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Well that wasn’t very nice. 

Although that’s what the textbook also said - albeit a little politer, so I guess large families are rare in the Wizarding World.

He turns back to Harry and I. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potters. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you both there."

He holds out his hand to shake my brother’s - not mine - but Harry doesn't take it.

Although I hadn’t expected him to in the first place, so it wasn’t very surprising.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he states coolly.

Draco Malfoy doesn't go red exactly, but a pink tinge does appear on his pale cheeks which showed me at least how embarrassed he was from that rejection. I go back to reading.

“And you?” he asks, but I don’t realise who he’s referring to until I look up from my book to find everyone staring at me.

What would be a good response? 

I didn’t want to make enemies before I had even stepped into the school, yet at the same time, I didn’t want there to be any tension between my brother and I when we were going through arguably the biggest transition of our lives.

After a few seconds of deliberation, I think of a fairly neutral response.

“Depends what House I get into,” I state in the same tone my brother had used, “after all, Potters are commonly placed in Gryffindor, so I doubt that’d be any good for your reputation if I get put there, will it?” 

From what I’d heard from Hagrid and Ron about Slytherin, I was pretty sure the feelings between the two houses were mutual.

It was clear as day that Malfoy hadn’t expected that from me.

He stares at me with a unidentifiable look in his eyes before pointedly looking at Harry, as if telling me that the next insult was aimed at my twin, and not me.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he says slowly, still staring at Harry. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraffs like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Harry and Ron stand - both clearly angry, and I merely wince, wondering how bad exactly Malfoy’s social skills were.

From’s Ron’s reaction to the insult, I was pretty sure that they are preposterous even in the Wizarding World - where people like Hagrid live.

"Say that again," Ron says, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneers.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry, and I sigh.

What was it with boys and fighting?

They didn’t seem to realise that Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than them, meaning that if things went any further, I’d be forced to intervene and attempt a spell for the first time.

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

“Hey, we paid for those - ” I object as Goyle reaches toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron - who leaps forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, the goon lets out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle - Crabbe and Malfoy back away as Goyle swings Scabbers round and round.

“Wingardium Leviosa” I cast with my wand, standing up and to my (hidden) surprise, the spell actually works.

However it works a bit too well, and Scabbers flies into the ceiling, hitting it with a audible ‘thump’ before falling to the floor.

The three leave after that, glaring at Harry and Ron and I feel like a rivalry has just started.

Goyle shoots me a thankful look, which I don’t acknowledge.

Instead I rush forwards and pick up Scabbers, who is still breathing - Thank God!

Before I can even start to apologise, Hermione Granger decides to show up again.

"What has been going on?" she asks, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron, who’s now taking Scabbers from my hands.

“I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to us and upon seeing the guilty expression on my face, he takes a closer look at Scabbers. 

"No - I don't believe it - he's gone back to sleep - "

I don’t believe him at first, although I did appreciate his attempt to make me feel better.

However once Harry checks and says the same thing, I look over.

And so he had fallen asleep.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry explained about our previous meeting in Diagon Alley and I’m too relieved to correct my twin when he unsurprisingly makes Malfoy seem worse than he was.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly, and the two - I was trying to ignore Granger - of us look at him curiously.

"They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched.” He continues, and I wonder if there are any books on this.

Probably not.

“My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." 

He turns to Hermione, and so does Harry - whilst I pointedly look away. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. 

"Would you mind leaving while we change?" I add, wondering why she was still talking.

Maybe I was reacting too harshly, but she just indirectly threatened to get three kids - all of whom might be in the same house as her, in trouble as we broke some school rules on the way there - not even at the actual school.

"All right - I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice, and I wonder if I’ve hurt her feelings. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glares at her as she leaves, so it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who dislikes her. 

We peer out of the window and notice that it was getting dark, with the mountains and forests being under a deep purple sky. 

The train also did seem to be slowing down, so we start to get changed.

Harry and Ron take off their jackets and pull on their long black robes, and I notice Ron's were a bit short for him - most likely hand-me-downs and so you could see his sneakers underneath them. 

Which definitely didn’t adhere to the school’s dress codes.

I wonder if Granger would have a fit if she saw them.

I instead change fully into my colourless uniform, making them both turn away.

Once I had just given the boys the all clear to turn back around, a voice echoes through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train as it will be taken to the school separately."

I think all three of us were nervous at that point, but I try to comfort the others, grabbing my brother’s and then Ron’s hands as a sign of solidarity.

Harry smiles at me nervously - most likely sensing my own discomfort. And I felt Ron tense, no doubt not being used to someone - much less a girl, holding his hand. But I could see that he had calmed down somewhat, so I don’t let go.

The train slows right down and finally stops.

We push our way towards the doors and out on to a tiny, dark platform, shivering in the cold night air.

A lamp comes bobbing over the heads of the students, and I hear a very familiar voice: 

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry, Ophelia?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads, and Harry and I can’t help but beam back at him.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"  
Slipping and stumbling, we follow Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. 

It was so dark on either side of us that I wonder if there were thick trees there.

Nobody speaks, no doubt feeling nervous about what was going to happen. 

Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffs once or twice and so I turn around and give him a comforting smile.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!" from us as the narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. 

Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

I stare at Hogwarts in disbelief; it was a Bloody Castle! 

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. 

The three of us were followed into our boat by Hermione Granger unfortunately, but it’s not like we could have refused to let her sit there.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And our fleet of little boats move off all at once, gliding across the lake, which seemed to be as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over us as we sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid suddenly as the first few boats reached the cliff ; we all bent our heads and the little boats carried us through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face.  
We were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking us right underneath the castle, until we reached a kind of underground harbor, where we clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.  
"Trevor!" cries Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then we clamber up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

We walk up a flight of stone steps and crowd around the huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raises a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, and I can’t help but feel uneasy about whatever was coming next.

The door swings open at once and a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stands there. She has a stern expression as she looks over all of us first-years, although I could have sworn her expression softened when her gaze landed on Harry and I.

Maybe she had known our parents? 

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," introduces Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulls the door wide and the entrance hall alone was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. 

The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, and I find myself wondering how on Earth so many Incendios were maintained at this school. Wasn’t the spell supposed to fade out after a while?

The ceiling was too high to make out but we saw a magnificent marble staircase facing us that led to the upper floors. 

We follow Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. I could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be here - But Professor McGonagall show us first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. We crowd in, standing rather close to each other than we would have usually done, and peer about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall to us. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, to Ron's smudged nose. until finally they lingered on my short, messy hair and Harry’s untameable mane. 

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber, and I blinked, looking at everyone there.

Most people looked nervous. However, no one looked particularly terrified, so I guess the test wasn’t that bad.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" my twin asks Ron and I turn, knowing that Ron has more knowledge of the Wizarding World than the both of us.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

He thinks?

My heart stopped. 

A test? 

In front of the whole school? 

When majority of the children here hadn’t learnt any magic yet - what on earth would Harry and I do?!

My second sweep around the room indicates that everyone else now looked terrified, too - no doubt having heard Ron. 

No one was talking much except Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need - like a lunatic.

I more or less ignored her, but I could tell Harry was struggling to.

Neither of us wanted to go back to the Dursleys, but we both knew that Harry would suffer more if he did.  
And if you failed the test, then would you have to go back home?

I grab his hand again to try and offer some form of comfort. 

Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead us to the test -

About twenty ghosts stream through the back wall.

Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glide across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at us first years. Although they had probably seen terrified first years several times in their...afterlives.

Some of them seem to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance - "

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know it, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly notice us and waves.

We stare back, unsure of what to do.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at us. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few of us - myself included - nod.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. She seemed to terrify even the ghosts as one by one, they float away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall tells us briskly, "and follow me."

I walk in between Harry and Ron, and we walk out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into presumably, the Great Hall.

I don’t think I had ever imagined such a place. 

It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting and these tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.

At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led us up here, so that we came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind us.  
The hundreds of faces staring at us looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. 

Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, we look upwards to see a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. 

Granger whispers beside us: "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Although I wondered what would happen if it was raining outside. Would all of our food just get wet?

We quickly look down again as Professor McGonagall silently places a four-legged stool in front of the us.

On top of the stool she puts a pointed wizard's hat. 

The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. 

I doubt that Aunt Petunia would have even let it in the house.

“Maybe we have to try and get a rabbit out of it,” Harry whispers to me, and I go to laugh before looking in his eyes and realising that he was completely serious.

He really was worried about this wasn’t he?

My hand grows warm as I go to give his a squeeze, and his eyes glaze over slightly before he looked much calmer.

What the hell had I just done?

I look around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone seemed to be staring at everywhere but us.

Noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, we stare at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitches. A rip near the brim opens wide like a mouth - and the hat begins to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall bursts into applause as the hat finishes its song. It bows to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to us. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiles weakly, not letting go of my hand.

I frown.  
Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but surely it should be done in a separate room? 

It just felt like it should be a private ceremony instead of one in front of the entire school.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she announces, and I wonder what would happen if I refused to. 

Would I be kicked out?

Almost definitely. 

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. 

After a moments pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat.

I feel relief at the fact that our thoughts aren’t projected to the world. Harry seems to share my feelings, because he lets go of my hand, looking far more confident than he had been before.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table, and I notice the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttles off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clap this time; several Ravenclaws standing up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; we could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin, who had cheered, but a lot more subduedly compared to the other three Houses.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide.

"Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

I could have sworn that Granger almost ran to the stool and jams the hat eagerly on her head.  
Maybe I was just biased though. After all, I really didn’t like her.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat and Ron groans. 

I remembered his brothers being in Gryffindor and look at him sympathetically. It seemed like family members always ended up in the same House, so he would have to deal with her.  
Then again, with my family’s history Harry and I would probably have to deal with her as well.

I briefly wonder if I’ll end up in a different House, but quickly dismiss it.

I’m a Potter.

I’ll end up in Gryffindor.

When Neville Longbottom is called, he falls over on his way to the stool. 

Malfoy and a couple of other students snicker, and I feel a small smile worm its way onto my lips.

The hat also took a long time to decide for him.

I wonder if I’d be the same.

When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," he runs off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter - mostly from the Slytherins - to give it to "MacDougal, Morag," who was promptly sorted into Ravenclaw.

Malfoy swaggers forward when his name is called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There were still a lot of people to go, so I end up tuning the Sortings out. 

That is until a very familiar name to me is called out.

"Potter, Harry!"

“Good luck,” I whisper.

He smiles, more confident than before and steps forward.

And as he did, whispers break out all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

“GRYFFINDOR!" The hat unsurprisingly screams a minute later.

Looking surprised, my twin makes his way over to the Gryffindors. 

I doubt he noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. 

Several students stand up and shake his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yell, "We’ve got Potter! We’ve got Potter!"

I wonder if I’ll get the same response from them.

“Potter, Ophelia!”

It went quiet again and I heard more whispers as I walked up towards the stool. 

“The girl-who-lived,” I hear someone whisper as I walk forward, and I feel strangely touched.

That was my nickname?

It sounded awesome.

I sit down quickly, trying not to show any fear, and put the hat on my head. 

“Another Potter? Very interesting. A special mind you have...so many qualities...so many desires...Great potential...a great and powerful mind...maybe Ravenclaw? No...you do like to learn, but that isn’t your greatest passion,” 

I felt slightly offended at that; I loved reading!

“You are a great mystery...but I see something that you hide..." 

"Put me with Harry," I mentally order, tired of it’s musings.  
I was a Potter, so I’d be in Gryffindor.  
Right?  
"Wrong,” the Hat murmurs.  
“Put you with Harry?” It mocks. “No...you will thrive without him... and your ambition is your greatest quality... I know just what to do with you...SLYTHERIN!"   
My heart stops.  
Weren’t Slytherins the direct opposite to Gryffindors?  
There was silence among the students, and I look around to see surprised faces, confirming what I’d already suspected - That situations like mine rarely happened.  
The hat was taken from my head and I look up to see Professor McGonagall staring at me, disappointment being the clearest emotion on her face.  
I look over to see Hagrid with the same expression on his face. Even the headmaster seemed disappointed.  
I didn’t get a smile from him like Harry had due to ending up in a House that he hated.  
Rage immediately builds up inside of me.  
Surely something as trivial as a House shouldn’t matter if they knew my parents. Being in Slytherin didn’t stop me from being James and Lily Potter’s eldest child and I’m sure if they’d been alive, they would have still been proud.  
So why were these teachers looking at me with disappointed?  
No, how dare they look at me this way?!  
Maybe they didn’t know my parents as well as they thought they did.  
A glum Harry stands, attracting everyone’s attention, and, with his eyes not leaving mine, he starts to clap.  
That seems to draw everyone else out of their stupor and they join him.  
I suspected that Harry’s support and my name had more to do with it than my sorting, but I wasn’t about to complain.  
After all, it was as loud as Harry’s had been!  
Some of the older Slytherins mimicked the Weasley twins, yelling “We’ve got Potter!”  
And so, with a stony face, I walk over to the Slytherin table and sit down next to Lily Moon, another first year Slytherin, who smiles kindly at me.  
I return it, feeling a bit more relaxed than before.  
No one tries to shake my hand, and for that I’m grateful.  
I try to pay attention to the other Sortings, but there were too many, and I couldn’t help but zone out after Dean Thomas’ - a Gryffindor.  
I do pay attention when it’s Ron's turn though.  
He was pale green by now, but he needn’t have worried as a second later the hat placed him in Gryffindor.  
I smile at this and clap, noting that I was the only Slytherin to do so.  
Ron catches my eye on the way to his table and smiles back - hopefully showing that there’s no bad blood between us.  
Which is good, ‘cause I wouldn’t know what to do if Harry’s best friend hated me.  
"Zabini, Blaise," the last name was made a Slytherin, and he sits down across from me, giving us all a wink.

Professor McGonagall rolls up her scroll and takes the Hat away to God knows where.

And so, unsure as to what I should do, I look down at my empty gold plate, wondering how on earth our food was going to arrive. 

Albus Dumbledore got to his feet and he was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see us all there and I look up hesitantly, unsure of what to make of him.

"Welcome," he says to us. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sits back down and everybody claps and cheers. 

I join in, albeit a little confusedly. 

What the hell do those words even mean? 

“He’s mad isn’t he...” I mumble, however based on the way everyone turns to me, I’d clearly said it louder than I’d intended to.

Lily Moon chokes on her drink, whilst Theodore Nott openly guffaws. 

Pansy Parkinson giggles whilst Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass look at me in amusement.

Draco Malfoy nods his head in agreement.

Meanwhile I fight hard to keep a blush off my face, trying to focus instead on the fact that as no one objected to what I said, they agreed. 

I struggle to stop my mouth from falling open as the dishes in front of me suddenly pile up with food. 

I don’t think I’d ever seen so many things I liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire puddings, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved us, but we’d never been allowed to eat as much as we liked. Dudley had always taken anything that we’d really wanted, even if it made him sick. 

With that in mind, I pile my plate high with everything but the peppermints. 

As I eat it however, I make sure to not wolf it down.

This was most of the Slytherins’ first impression of me, and I didn’t want them to think I had no manners.

It was all delicious.

I look over at the Grand Table, where the professors all sat and talked to each other. 

Almost immediately I see Professor Quirrell - the stammering teacher Harry, Hagrid and I met in The Leaky Caldron, who’s talking to another professor with a crooked nose and greasy black hair.  
Quirrell looks over to me, and for a second it feels as if my body has been lit on fire.

Then, as quickly as the feeling came, it goes, leaving me breathless.

Placing a hand on my chest, I try to catch my breath, but I find I can't.

"You okay?" Lily asks and I was surprised to hear worry in her voice; after all, we barely knew each other! 

"Yeah...just ate too much," I lie quickly, rubbing my arm, which felt warm.  
And so, grabbing my goblet, I down my water, sighing in relief as the cool liquid sootheds me.  
"Who's that?" I ask, motioning towards the Professor that Quirrell was talking to. I had a feeling that he was important.  
Severus Snape, a small voice in the back of my head whispers, but I ignore it.  
"That's Professor Snape. He's the head of our House, and a Potions Master." Draco explains proudly. and I look at him confusedly.  
Were Professor Snape and his family close?  
Yes, the voice whispers, but I ignore it again.  
"I heard he gives out extra points to Slytherins," Blaise Zabini says casually and Malfoy nods.  
"Well, that's nice to know," I say dryly.  
Blatant favouritism: Who wouldn’t want that?  
Although I feel like we’d need it, if the looks on Hagrid and McGonagoll’s faces earlier were an indication as to how the rest of the school saw our house.  
Professor Snape looks at me then, and there’s an unidentifiable emotion on his face that I’m still trying to figure out before he turns away.  
It’s guilt, the voice replies.  
Seriously, who the hell is this?  
When the time is right, you’ll find me. It says cryptically.  
Deciding to ignore it, I turn my attention to Blaise, and we have a conversation about the Sorting Hat - apparently it had suggested Ravenclaw to him.  
“And what about you? Did it suggest any other houses?”  
Theodore Nott snorts.  
“Obviously Gryffindor! I mean - ”  
“Actually it was Ravenclaw,” I interject. “It didn’t want me in Gryffindor.”  
I choose to leave out the fact that I asked for it to put me there.  
Not wanting to talk any further about this, I turn to Lily Moon, who talks about her blood status - something which had come up in the book I had on Wizarding Society.  
“I’m a half-blood,” she whispers.  
From the looks other people on the table were giving her, I’d say that it was pretty obvious.  
Although why wasn’t I given the same looks?  
“So? As am I” I whisper back, and she looks surprised for a moment.  
Then she smiles and I get the feeling that this is the start of a beautiful friendship.  
After dessert, Professor Dumbledore stands up again. "Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.   
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. " We see his attention go to the Weasley twins. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. "Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. "  
Dumbledore gives his wand a little flick, and a long gold ribbon flew from it with words on it. "Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"  
And so we all bellow out the school song in different and horrendous tunes. I end up having to cover my ears to try and save whatever brain cells I still had.   
Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"  
Our prefects, two fifth years, instruct us to stand up and lead us towards the dungeons - which was both cool and terrifying.  
The Slytherin dormitory was underneath the Great Lake, where I could see more species of fish in there than I could in an aquarium.  
We stop at a stone wall where a picture of the Great Merlin was rested.  
"Now listen up, newbies!" yells out the female prefect.  
I think her name was Gemma?  
"This is the entrance to the common room. The password this week is Salazar. It changes every two weeks. So learn it, or you'll be sleeping out here. Girls to the left, boys to the right. And scatter!"   
We scatter, going into the common room and seeing round green lanterns hanging above the vaulted ceiling.  
Large arm chairs and couches were around the room with various desks. A large fireplace was lit with a large snake on the wall above the mantle.  
I follow the girls to the left to see beds with curtains placed around the large room with green curtains and in the middle of the floor was a shiny pool.   
I found my trunk near an empty bed, and sat on it, watching the other girls find their beds.  
Across from me were Pansy Parkinson and Lily Moon.  
Daphne Greengrass was in the bed next to me whilst a girl called Tracey was on my other side, and Millicent Bulstrode was next to her.  
Surprisingly, despite the reputation that Slytherin had, the House seemed fine.  
Of course, an hour later I reach my first problem.  
Clothing.  
Now to be honest, I should have seen this coming. All of my clothes - bar the robes Harry and I bought in Diagon Alley - were either hand-me-downs of Dudley’s or Aunt Petunia’s.  
I doubted it would have meant something if I was in Gryffindor, where the Weasleys were.  
But in Slytherin, they had money that they could easily access.  
For example, this was painfully obvious when the other girls - including Lily, had nice night gowns, while I had button down flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top.   
"Is that what you have have to wear?" Parkinson asks, and she sounds genuinely horrified.  
Then again, based on her last name, that probably is her worst nightmare.   
“I was raised by muggles,” I say bluntly and she looks at me pitifully, as if I had gone through the worst thing in the world.  
Thinking that this conversation was over, I get my hairbrush out from the trunk, and almost don’t notice the nightgown flying at me.  
Luckily I grab it before it hits the floor, (it was white) and I look in the direction it came from, locking eyes with a determined Pansy Parkinson.  
“They’re supposed to be comfier,” she states, before pulling other things out of her trunk.  
“Thank you,” I mumble and change into it.  
She was right - it was comfier.  
Albeit a bit too big.  
It’s not until I finish brushing my hair that someone else in the room speaks.  
“Why were you raised by muggles?” Millicent blurts out, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the term and I shrug.

“My Aunt was the only living blood relative we had left”

I was unsure on that though. 

Surely there had to have been better options? 

There were.

Ah, the voice is back.

Like Who? I think back, deciding to humour it for once.

Two Godfathers.

Seriously, who the hell is this? 

When the time is right, you’ll find me. It repeats, and I leave it alone.  
“I can’t imagine living with muggles,” Daphne Greengrass says, wrinkling her nose and I hear the other girls murmur in agreement.

Apart from Lily Moon, who was most likely thinking about her muggle parent.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park,” I mutter, briefly relishing how bitter I sounded - finally I could vent to someone that wasn’t Harry! 

“They hated wizards. Even tried to stop us from going to Hogwarts.”

“They didn’t!” Gasps Lily Moon.

And I don’t know if it was my statement or Lily Moon’s (the only other witch in the room to have dealt with muggles) reaction to it, but all the girls turned around to look at me, interest, disbelief and anger clear on their faces.

“They did,” I insist. 

And so I tell them about my time with the Dursleys. 

Not everything about them of course! - I barely knew these people.

Plus, my strategy when it came to dealing with my family would come across as weak to them, something which I could not afford to be.

If the girl-who-lived nickname was anything to go by, then I had a reputation to uphold.

A reputation that definitely wasn’t going to go down the drain on my first night at Hogwarts!

It took ages, and after about an hour, I start to feel tired.

Expecting half of the girls to have fallen asleep by now, I stop.

To my surprise, none of them had, and they’re all looking at me.

Horror and anger are the only clear expressions that I can make out on their faces, so I wonder what is going to happen next.

“I can’t believe they would do that!” Millicent Bulstrode roars, with Lily Moon and Tracey Davis nodding near her.

“Well, you don’t have to go back there.” Pansy Parkinson states - just as determinedly as before.

I snort.

“I’m not sure that’s how this world works.” 

“You’re a snake now,” She reminds me, “And snakes look after their own!”

I don’t know how to respond to that.  
And so I don’t.  
Instead I roll over, turning away from her and pretend to try and sleep.

The girls also go quiet - most likely in respect for me, and if Tracey Davis noticed that my eyes were open - and suspiciously shiny - before the candles went out, she didn’t say anything.

I went to sleep that night with a strange feeling blossoming across my chest.

Something that I had never felt before.

A feeling that I belonged.


	4. Snakes stick together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter was hard to create.  
> It took me 9 days - Sorry you had to wait so long!  
> However, this chapter has really deviated from the books, as I had to focus on Slytherin, so it took me longer to write - I was really getting into the hang of it by the end though, so the next chapter will get uploaded sooner rather than later - Again I apologise!
> 
> fugols (in this story) by the way are chocolate brids - just trying to clarify.

Chapter 3

_To: Mrs Narcissa Malfoy_

_Dearest Mother,_

_I am pleased to inform you that I have been sorted into House Slytherin - the only House worthy enough to hold the name Malfoy._

_Uncle Severus hasn’t been able to talk to me yet, but please tell father that I’ll seek him out the first opportunity I get._

_Also, could you please tell him that I give him my love._

_Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Elgin Harper, Cedric Avery, Crabbe and Goyle have unsurprisingly been sorted into the House as well - alongside a few half-bloods, whose noble blood clearly shone through to the hat._

_However, one sorting was very unexpected._

_You remember how I’d claimed that Harry and Ophelia Potter had spoke to me in Madame Malkin’s?  
Well, I found out on the train that she hadn’t been lying - it really was them!_

_I offered them my friendship on the train - just like father said I should._

_But Harry Potter declined._

_In a very rude manner if I must say so myself!_

_His dirty blood was clear as day to Crabbe and I._

_However, whilst she also did not accept, Ophelia Potter answered in a way that was much more fitting of a girl of her status - almost as if she had been raised in a similar way to my other Housemates._

_I believe that may be why she was also sorted into Slytherin._

_I have to go back to the Common Room now, as I promised Crabbe and Goyle that I would be there - so I have to stop writing._

_I hope that you aren’t missing me too dearly - Just remember, I’ll be back home in no time!_

_Lots of love,_

_Your son, Draco_

_P.S. Could you ask Uncle Severus if he is alright? He looked strangely conflicted during the Sorting ceremony. You should tell him that such an expression is not befitting of a close friend of ours._

\------

I wake up the next morning with a thrill of excitement still racing through my body. 

It seems like last night wasn’t enough for me.

Perhaps it was all a dream?

Almost immediately, I sit up and look blearily around the room. 

Good, I’m still at Hogwarts.

In my dorm.

And today was the first day of classes.

I glance over to see what the other girls in the room are doing, and to my surprise, the only one still there is Lily Moon - who seems to be in a deep sleep. 

After getting ready, (something which consisted of me merely showering, dressing and getting my books for the day) I walk over to the door, looking back at the still asleep Lily. 

She looked peaceful and for some reason, I felt like it would be a crime to wake her up.

However, one glance at the clock tells me what I had already suspected - That we don’t have long until breakfast starts.

So I drop my bag on my bed and pick up a pillow - deciding to wake her up the same way I usually wake Harry - by hitting her with it.

It has the intended effect as she jerks awake and gasps for breath, as if she had been doused with water instead.

If I didn’t feel so guilty, I would have laughed. 

I toss the pillow onto Parkinson’s bed - making a mental note to get it back later. 

“You were going to be late,” I explain, although I’m not sure if she understands.

“I’ll wait for you in the Common Room.”

I then leave as quickly as I can, almost missing her next words. 

“Thank you.”

However, I don’t miss them, and I try hard to keep the smile off my face as I walk to the Slytherin Common Room.

To no avail.

\------

All of the first years are huddled together around one of the sofas. in the Common Room - Of course, all of them minus me and Lily.

They’re talking to each other, and I stand there awkwardly.

Do I walk towards them?

If I wasn’t woken up by them, then it’s clear that they planned to exclude me from these sort of conversations.

Right?

I expect them to go silent when the first person - Millicent Bulstrode in this case, sees me, and brace myself for a potential confrontation when she taps the other first years.

But to my surprise, they all turn to me with mostly warm reactions.

Even Cedric Avery and Elgin Harper stare at me without malice.

“Well someone clearly woke up out of the right side of bed this morning,” Blaise Zabini drawls, most likely attempting to get a rise out of me.

I just stare at him, too confused to say anything. 

However, my cheeks flush and he smiles, clearly achieving whatever he wanted to accomplish.

“I hope you had a good night’s sleep,” Pansy Parkinson says with a smile - that looks anything but mocking - for some reason I found that all the more alarming.

“You looked so peaceful this morning - so we didn’t want to wake you,” Daphne Greengrass says, sounding somewhat apologetic.

“We’re sorry,” Tracey Davis continues, “You forgive us right?”

I stare at them a bit longer before I realise that they want a response.

“What’s there to forgive?” I reply, genuinely confused by this whole situation. 

If they were this quick to worry about me, then why was everyone else so apprehensive about Slytherins in general?

Something didn’t add up here.

Hopefully I’ll figure out what’s up.

I smile at them to show that my response wasn’t crafted out of anger - it genuinely wasn’t (Just Confusion), and I see their faces visibly relax.

Pansy moves up on the sofa, motioning for me to sit down next to her.

Seeing no harm in it, I do so.

The seats were comfy.

Much more so than the Dursleys’ own sofa - and I knew for a fact Aunt Petunia prided herself on how soft and welcoming that piece of furniture was.

That makes me feel even better.

The conversation continues, and I find myself enamored by it.

Apparently the others had just come back from the owlery - something which I still couldn’t believe existed, and were eagerly awaiting parcels from their families.

“I’m getting two pictorials!” Theodore Nott tells me excitedly, and I smile back, not knowing in the slightest what a ‘pictorial’ was.

_A comic,_ the mysterious voice tells me.

Elgin Harper is in the middle of telling us what he was going to be receiving - a flock of ‘fugols’ - whatever they were, when Draco Malfoy suddenly stands up.

“Well,” he says, somewhat impatiently, “Now that Ophelia Potter’s up, I’d say it’s about high time we headed off for breakfast.”

Him saying my full name seems to ignite an all too familiar feeling to arise in me: Dread.

Is that how everyone was going to refer to me here, by my full name?

I really hope not.

The others are quick to follow his lead and start to head off, but I stay where I am, frowning.

What about Lily?

“Lily Moon isn’t here yet.” I remind them neutrally.

Was their exclusion of Lily intentional? 

I don’t know, but hopefully their reactions will help me to find out.

The shock on their faces helps me to find my answer. 

“My apologies,” Pansy says quickly, “We forgot she wasn’t with us.”

“Maybe don’t tell her we forgot her,” Vincent Crabbe surprisingly mumbles, and everyone turns to him, “She seemed _kind_.”

The way he said the last word made me feel distinctly uncomfortable - What did they associate kindness with?

I think my discomfort was showing on my face, for Pansy shoots me a sympathetic look.

She then whispers into Draco’s ear, and I don’t know what it is she says exactly, but his face seems to soften somewhat.

He opens his mouth to say something - perhaps to rebuke his friends comments? - But Lily chooses that moment to run into the Common Room. 

She looks around at all of us, and after a few moments of hesitation, she runs forward, tensely standing next to me.

However she does relax somewhat once Blaise nods at her - something of which I am grateful for.

She ends up walking in front of me as I go slower intentionally, trying to memorise every aspect of the dungeons as we left them.

I knew we’d come back, but it still felt like I was in some sort of long dream - and I doubted I would ever see something as grand as this by the time I woke up.

Something else is on my mind though, and it’s not until we’re halfway there that I realise exactly what it was.

We were a very large group.

Including Draco Malfoy - who walked slightly in front of the group - for reasons unknown to me, and myself, who walked at the back, there were 13 of us. 

Unlucky for some but incredibly lucky for others.

Hopefully, superstition doesn’t matter that much in this world.

Then again, this world did seem to follow a lot of the stereotypes from the muggle world - who have had to had got these ideas from somewhere, so it wouldn’t be all that surprising. 

A small frown pulls on my lips as I glance at my classmates in front of me.

If the saying was true, then I couldn’t help but wonder which one we’d be.

I hoped lucky, but a familiar feeling of dread overcame me, indicating to the opposite.

\------

"There, look!"

"Where?"

"You see the group of Slytherins over there? Yeah, the red-haired one."

"Did you see her face?"

"Does she have a scar?"

Whispers follow me from the moment we leave the Common Room.

I get used to the attention rather quickly - much to my surprise, and find myself feeling amused with these students, who were often lining up outside classrooms, standing on their tiptoes to get a look at me, or doubling back to pass me in the corridors (again).

It was like they couldn’t get enough of me.

No matter how amusing it was however, I wished they wouldn't do this. 

Call me paranoid, but it was hard enough to get to my classes without worrying that someone might pounce at you at any given second.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. 

Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. 

It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and the coats of armor could walk. 

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. 

“First up is Transfiguration with Professor McGonagoll,” Tracey Davis declares, looking down at the piece of parchment that contains her schedule.

“Do you know where the Transfiguration classroom is?” Draco asks her as we board the switching staircases.

“I was hoping you would,” I mumble, “being as you are leading us.”

“I do! I just don’t know how to get there with the - ” Theodore Nott interrupts before he cuts off with a gasp as he made to stop off on to a landing and the staircases abruptly swing in another direction “ - bloody staircases. Whose idea was it to have moody staircases anyway, honestly? It’s not helpful to anyone.”

We dash through the hallways, Lily, Blaise and I having to duck under what Daphne Greengrass calls a poltergeist. (“Naughty, naughty, kiddies running through the hallways!” It calls to us loudly.) 

And we run in the direction Theodore believes to be the Transfiguration classroom, which we all slide into as quietly as we can. 

Noticing the seat next to Lily being taken by Tracey, I sit down in the seat next to Pansy Parkinson quickly, ignoring the one next to Malfoy that he indicates I should sit in. 

She turns to smile at me. 

“On time, even early,” Malfoy exclaims proudly. 

I nod, returning Pansy’s smile.

Without speaking, we retrieve some parchment and our quills. Pansy’s eyes are glued attentively to the cat that sits at the front of the classroom. 

I wonder who it belonged to.

Perhaps Professor McGonagoll herself?

I meanwhile, look around the room.

“Where’s Professor McGonagoll?” I ask, more confused than anything else.

It looked like the clock was going to ring at any given second and she didn’t feel like the type of teacher that would show up late to a lesson.

The Slytherins giggle at that and I go red. 

I’m about to yell before I realise that they aren’t mocking me - They’re simply amused.

Blaise arches one eyebrow at me, shaking his head in amusement before he turns his eyes back to the cat in the front of the classroom.

So I follow his gaze, even more confused than before.

_She’s the cat_ , the voice murmurs, also amused.

Professor McGonagall was definitely...different then. 

I was still wary of her - the look in her eyes after my sorting replaying in my head, but she seemed over what she thought was disappointing, for she didn't spare me a second glance. She starts the class by giving us a strict introductory message.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts, anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

She proceeds to change her desk into a cow and back again. 

And that, quite frankly, was amazing. 

I'd seen magic at work in everyday things, both fromwhen Harry and I had been at Diagon Alley and in in the few hours I'd been at Hogwarts, but this sort of power over nature, to be able to change the fundamental nature of something in that fashion…

It was simply incredible.

I was soon brought crashing back to reality when McGonagall saw fit to cool my (and probably other students in the class’) enthusiasm.

"I'm afraid none of you will be changing desks into livestock any time soon. Though if you press forward in this class to NEWT level, I will be happy to guide you along that path," she says in a tone that sounds as if she doesn't really expect any of us to do so.

She then proceeds to teach us the theory on basic transfigurations. 

It was not easy, but a lot of it was similar to the textbook, so I was ready. 

This was magic, after all, and I was determined to be good at it.

Eventually, each of us are given a matchstick, and she instructs us to try and transfigure our matches into needles.

While most people start their attempts immediately, I pause for a minute to collect my thoughts. 

I must have looked lost for Pansy decided to whisper to me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just thinking." 

She shrugs and goes back to her attempts, whilst I start to look over my notes for anything that was useful for this particular task. 

Yes, that was it.

Perhaps I could do it.

Looking around, however, no one was having any luck at this, so that comforted me somehow - at least I’m not the only one that will fail miserably.

Still, I wanted to show I could do it, confirm to myself that yes, I was a wizard and deserved to be in this world, away from muggles. 

Perhaps it’s due to the surge of determination that overcomes me that I succeed on my first attempt.

I flick my wand, striving to make every movement as precisely as possible, with my memory recalling everything I'd just heard in the class, and read about on the train. 

As I finished off my last movement, the matchstick wood seemed to shine, and I watched it turn to metal in front of my eyes. 

Unfortunately, the head remained, most likely making me the possessor of the world's first match-needle. That didn't stop Pansy from voicing her enthusiasm though.

Nor did it really curb mine.

"Wow, you did it!" the boy on my left, Harper, exclaims, letting his voice rise in his enthusiasm. This prompts the professor to come down on us like a vulture stalking it’s prey.

"Yes, Mr. Harper, is there anything you need help with?" Harper blushes and looks down, but manages to have the presence of spirit to reply.

"No, ma'am, but Ophelia's done it…" The whole class turns to look at me, and I flinch under so many looks. 

I couldn't blame him for announcing it, given the circumstances, but I wish he'd contained his enthusiasm. 

McGonagall looks upon my match with skepticism, and so I promptly blurt out, "Not really, it's still got the head on it…"

She frowns as she picks up my match-needle, and reluctantly concedes: "In spite of that, this is a very impressive job for a first try, Miss Potter. Two points to Slytherin." 

I frown at this, surely it should have been more?

But she puts down the match and turns to the class before I’m able to say anything in reply. 

She announces that the class is over, and our assignment would be to change the matchstick into a needle flawlessly. 

The class groans at our first piece of homework, but I don’t say anything, still thinking that something was amiss with her reaction. 

I was so deep in thought as I walked with Lily and Pansy to History of Magic that I barely pay attention to what anyone else is saying until Malfoy talks directly to me.

"I couldn't believe McGonagall back there Ophelia. That was worth much more than two points you know?"

The others presumably nod in agreement, prompting him to continue.

"McGonagall has it in for Slytherins. She's Gryffindor's Head of House, of course. My father warned me about her, she pretends she's really fair, but she won't give any extra points to us if she can avoid it…"

I make a non-committal noise. 

Malfoy may have been right and it was just that, but I couldn't get the look she'd given me back before the Sorting, or the one from class just then, out of my head. 

Before I could say anything, however, we reach the History of Magic classroom, where we were surprised by the sight of a ghost hovering above the teacher's table.

\------

That class is easily the most boring one I think I’ve ever had to sit through before.

Professor Binns had, apparently, simply left his body behind in the teacher's lounge one day and kept on teaching, such was his single-minded devotion to his field. 

Unfortunately, that devotion doesn't quite reach the point where he is able to motivate his students, or indeed, even keep us awake. 

Halfway through the lecture, I end up just tuning the man out and reading the relevant chapters from A History of Magic, which I annotate my own notes alongside in one of my notebooks. 

While Bathilda Bagshot was Binns' equal in excitement, she manages to be his superior in brevity, so it was clear to me that my time would be better spent that way at least.

The rest of my class does not follow my example.

Gregory Goyle spends the entire lecture staring out the window with a dopey smile on his face, and was obviously in his own world. 

Pansy Parkinson plays Noughts and Crosses with Daphne Greengrass, and everyone elsechooses to do something - literally anything else - other than listening to Binns. 

Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to that fact, and simply droned on in his boring monotone.

\------

The next day, the Slytherins are again waiting for me.

I make a mental note to start getting up earlier - it felt like I owed them for wasting their time.

And I hate owing people things - almost as much as I hate acting like an idiot.

No one forgets about Lucy Moon this time, and I feel a small sense of pride - after all, that means they’ve accepted her as part of our group.

We make our way to the Great Hall for breakfast, and unlike yesterday, I make sure to talk to everyone.

It was clear by now that this wasn’t a dream, so that means that these people are my classmates, and other than Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy, I hadn’t really talked to any of the boys.

By the time we got to the Great Hall, I’d decided that I also quite liked Theodore Nott. 

He was fairly quiet - like myself, however, when he did talk, it was quite insightful.

“Why do you do that?” Pansy asks me as I’m halfway through my porridge (I’d made it a personal mission to try each of the breakfasts Hogwarts offered.)

“Why do I do what?” I ask after swallowing. 

“Why do you do the names thing?” She asks impatiently, as if I should have known about what she was on about the whole time.

At my confused look, she opens her mouth to elaborate, but Blaise Zabini beats her to it.

“She means: Why do you refer to us by our surnames?”

Oh. That’s what she meant.

I had wondered when my one book on Wizarding Society would fail me - It seems like now was it.

“I read that it was the polite thing to do...” I mumble, and the others stare at me for a good minute.

Before most of them start to laugh at me.

“Wait,” Cedric Avery interrupts, his gaze boring into mine, “You did research into Wizarding Culture prior to coming here?”

“Uh...yes,” I say, flushing slightly out of embarrassment, “Why does it matter?”

“Most wizards coming from the muggle world don’t do that,” he mumbles, sharing a look with Elgin Harper.

For some reason, I feel as if I have gained their approval.

_You have._

Why thank you oh so great voice in my head.

_No need to be sarcastic._

Who the hell are you?

_..._

Silence. I guess they got bored.

“It’s polite for inferior wizards to do so,” Daphne Greengrass clarifies after her giggles end.

“You aren’t,” Millicent Bulstrode says, before immediately covering her mouth.

Was she not meant to say that?

“From now on,” Pansy Parkinson states - a familiar determined gleam in her eyes. “Call me Pansy. Nothing else. Man, we really need to work on your modern cultural understanding!”

“We?” I ask.

“Yes, we,” Daphne clarifies with a frown. “You’re one of us now, so we look out for each other. That’s what snakes do.”

I feel myself go misty-eyed, but don’t acknowledge it.

Hopefully they won’t either.

“Of course, it isn’t your fault,” Millicent continues, “you didn’t ask to be raised by those awful muggles!”

“I still can’t believe they didn’t tell you anything about your heritage,” Lily murmurs.

The few boys that were still chuckling (Vincent and Gregory) abruptly stop and they all turn to me in horror.

I forgot they hadn’t been privy to our conversation the first night at the tower.

“They did what?!” Elgin Harper exclaims, clearly horrified.

People start to look over at us and I feel my cheeks flush again. 

Why must they all focus on me? 

“Don’t mention it so casually,” I hiss and majority of them look ashamed.

Pansy however doesn’t.

“They needed to know,” she mutters, looking at anywhere that wasn’t my face.

Malfoy - who had been strangely quiet throughout this conversation, abruptly stands up, clearly annoyed.

We all turn to him. 

Was he that upset that he wasn’t the center of attention for once?

I’m pretty sure he’s an only child...

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says quickly, and I could have sworn his cheeks glow red.

What the hell was that about?

Before he leaves, he gives me one last glance.

“You can call me Draco.”

And then he’s gone.

“Did his cheeks just glow?” Pansy asks me before diving back into her food, not waiting for an answer.

So I don’t, and instead turn and stare at his retreating back, trying to come up with a plausible theory as to what just happened.

\------

_To Mrs Narcissa Malfoy,_

_Dear Mother,_

_I apologise for this abrupt and albeit rather short letter but I have to tell you something._

_Less than an hour ago, I and my fellow first-years found out that Ophelia Potter had no real knowledge of the Wizarding World._

_Worse yet, we also found out that her muggle relatives had actively tried to suppress her magic - Surely that is illegal?!_

_Do you think you could go to the library and pick out a few books to send me so my Housemates and I can explain it to her before we become the laughing stock of the school._

_Love,_

_Your son Draco._

\------

The class we have that is the most reminiscent of muggle school is astronomy, where we'd climb up the appropriately named Astronomy Tower, every Tuesday night, to gaze at the night skies and learn the movements and positions of the planets and stars. 

What relevance this had to practising magic, no one ever told me, but I doubt anyone would listen or even bother to answer a first-year’s questions so I didn’t bother asking.

I liked Charms.

However, I wasn’t so sure if I liked the teacher, as when the tiny Professor Flitwick was so excited to read my name in the roll call, he fell down from the pile of books he'd climbed atop to be seen by everyone. 

He was a cheerful man though, and his excitedness to teach reminded me of my brother’s excitement towards magic.

Life in Hogwarts also had some less pleasant aspects. One was the caretaker, Filch, and his security cat, Mrs. Norris. He knew Hogwarts better than anyone, and was always roaming the halls with his feline companion, watching for students breaking rules or making a mess.

I didn’t really have a problem with either to be honest, but it was kind of frustrating to watch them give another student detention for using magic in the hallways to reapply their make up. 

Surely there were better things for him to be doing?

Peeves (the Poltergeist from earlier) also roamed the castle, and aside from his feud with Filch, was content with spreading mayhem around the school. 

Fortunately for us Slytherins, the Bloody Baron - the Slytherin House Ghost, was the only one who could control him, so he mostly left us alone. 

Although I’d had quite a few close calls due to him mistaking me for a Weasley.

\------

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a joke.

I think it may be just as much of a joke as Quirrell was. 

Not only did he constantly stammer, making it hard to understand him and even harder to focus, but his classroom reeked of garlic which, quite frankly, was disgusting.

I find myself complaining about it to Pansy Parkinson just after the lesson.

"You know, they don't like us to talk about it, but there's a curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position." Blaise informs the group when we’re on their way to the Great Hall. 

"For decades, no one has been able to hold the position for more than one year, and some of them have even died before the year was out. That's why Dumbledore has trouble finding anyone competent to teach it."

Was it even possible to put a curse on a position like that? 

Wouldn't it be more like a self-fulfilling prophecy? 

You know, wherein as people thought there was a curse, they don't plan on teaching for more than one year anyway… Still, something lurked on the back of my mind.

"I've heard Quirrell wasn't always this bad, though," I say, repeating what Hagrid told me. "Apparently, he went to get some 'practical experience' last year, and that's what turned him into the wreck he is now. Couldn't Dumbledore see that he wasn't fit to teach anything, much less DADA?"

Tracy shrugs. "No one really knows why Dumbledore does anything."

"Yeah, I doubt he does himself," I mutter and my merry band of first years laugh, making me smile despite my growing bad mood.

I guess I'll just have to learn this subject from the book, too.

But who knows, maybe it will improve next year.

_I doubt it._

Yeah, well no one asked you.

We enter the Great Hall and I finally get to see my brother.

It was from afar of course, but I smile sadly at him, glad to see that he’s found a home at Hogwarts.

Even if I’m not there with him.

\------

The longer I spend unbothered by the Slytherins, the more suspicious I get.

From what Hagrid, Ron and the book I had, I was sure that the House had quite a few death eaters in it. 

So surely, someone in this god forsaken House should have been angry at me for landing their parents/relatives in Azkaban.

But no. Even though Slytherin has been less obvious in their hero worship/awe/astonishment of me, it was still painstakingly obvious that they looked up to me.

Which, quite frankly, shouldn’t be happening.

Surprising even myself, I suffer through approximately 3 days of this before my curiosity got the better of me.

So naturally, after dinner on Thursday, I make my way up to the library.

Lily, Blaise, Pansy and surprisingly Draco Malfoy offer to accompany me, but I declined. 

I’d prefer to do this on my own thank you very much.

Of course, I hadn’t told them that.

Instead, I’d come up with a flimsy excuse relating to me asking the librarian about how to repair a book my brother damaged on the way to Hogwarts. 

They didn’t question me on, most likely due to the misconceptions they had about the House he was sorted into (Apparently Gryffindors weren’t the only ones with misconceptions.)

I had never been more thankful to the fact that that I was a good liar (due to my years with the Dursleys.)

So in the end, I made my way to the library, completely alone.

_You forgot about me._

Oh right.

The weird voice in my head and I made our way to the library.

When I step in, I have to take a minute.

No one told me that Hogwarts’ library was so amazing!

I guess I’ve finally found something worth dying for.

Something, of course, other than my twin.

I wonder if he misses me as much as I miss him....

There’s no point focusing on that though.

For now, I can find out exactly what was written about us in the history books to make us so admirable to the entirety of Hogwarts.

I take out the two books Granger mentioned on the train to Hogwarts.

God, that feels like a lifetime ago (Which was strange as it hadn’t even been a week.)

Maybe time was going slower here?

After reading the two texts, I have to take a minute to gather my thoughts.

From what was in those texts, no wonder everyone looked so awestruck of us. 

I read one of the sources from the Daily Prophet in the book:

**You-Know-Who Murdered by Wizard Twins**

**You-Know-Who arrived at the scene, intending to kill all four residents of Potter Cottage. However, he only ended up killing two, as the twin brother and sister - Harry and Ophelia were as a pair too powerful for even the Dark Lord.**

**The killing curse that he used backfired!**

**And instead of hitting the two tots, it killed him!**

**Perhaps, he was having an off-day, we’ll never know.**

**But we do know that this country - perhaps even the whole world, owes the boy-who-lived and the girl-who-lived an unrepayable debt, as it is due to their bravery and undeniable protectiveness for each other’s lives that we can now rejoice over the passing of one of - perhaps THE, darkest wizards in recent history.**

It made sense now.

These books described us as if we were legends instead of fellow wizards, so it’s understandable for Gryffindor - The House that values these sort actions from people, to look up to us.

It even makes sense for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw to do the same, as the books do portray us as heroes to the Wizarding World - something which as the source stated, left these students with an ‘unrepayable’ debt.

However, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Slytherin was also treating me in the same way.

Don’t get me wrong, the house wasn’t exactly like the other ones - they were far more subtle after all, but it was still similar enough to make me feel confused.

They were being kind. All of them.

From what’d I’d just read about after the war, Harry and I’s defeat of Voldemort resulted in a lot of death eaters getting arrested and subsequently thrown into the Wizarding Prison - Azkaban.

I read over the next source, a list of some of the arrested death eaters and that somehow makes me feel even more confused.

People in Slytherin had the same surnames as some of these prisoners - and unless those names were common in the Wizarding World - which with names like Avery and Lestrange I seriously doubt, that meant that Harry and I had genuinely caused their relatives to get locked up.

So why did they treat me kindly?

Perhaps it was due to fear?

No. I doubt that. 

If fear were the reason, then someone would have most likely challenged me by now.

Even if I had only been at the school for less than a week, it was clear as day that those in Slytherin enjoyed having and subsequently exercising their power.

Vaguely upset but mostly frustrated that I didn’t get the answer I so desperately sought, I dejectedly make my way back to the Common Room, where I sit with the other first years.

It’s not until an hour later that I realise the reason why.

Draco was ranting about the Wizengamot to us, and it’s then I realise how closely aligned the House of Slytherin was to the field of Politics.

From the names I could remember - Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange, Martius Flint - all of them had either been in politics or Azkaban.

Or in Flint’s case, both.

Slytherin is the political House out of the Four.

So, I had been searching for an answer to the wrong question for the least few hours.

A scowl breaks out across my face. 

I really hated wasting my time.

The real answer to that question could have simply been answered by another one:

Who wouldn’t want the Girl-Who-Lived as an ally?

After all, if I was on someone’s side, based on the attention I’d received over the last few days alone, then I could easily further their positions in Wizarding society.

Something which would set up them and their families for life. 

They were kind to me because I’m most likely the easiest and most useful ally for them to have. 

Or maybe it was due to the fact that I’d be an even more dangerous enemy. 

If I spoke out against someone - especially with the popularity I have now, I could effectively end someone’s whole career, and a bad reputation - from what I’d heard from the girls during our late-night conversations, was almost impossible to come back from.

So, the Slytherins would most likely keep up this behaviour around me - unless I somehow lost my almost saintly reputation or disgraced the House in any way (I doubted I would.)

“What’s wrong Ophelia?” Lily asks concerned, and I notice that all the first years are staring at me - even Draco, who had stopped mid-rant.

“Nothing, Lily,” I say with a smile. “Nothing at all.”

I was right, for I’d now realised how valuable I was to my fellow snakes.

And I had no intention of losing it any time soon.

\------

"What have we got this morning?" Pansy asks Theodore as she pours sugar on her pancakes.

I would ask her if she was an idiot, as it probably would have been smarter to just check the damn schedule instead of asking the entire table, but I decide to keep my mouth shut as she is usually smarter.

She’s probably just suffering the most from the after effect of our late night talks - sleep deprivation.

Instead I just eat my Manchet - a fancy sort of bread that I hadn’t known existed, and listened to what my peers were saying.

Malfoy was sitting away from us today, and was talking loudly to a couple of fourth-years.

Every couple of minutes he’d look at the group longingly - as if he’d wanted to be anywhere but there. 

We all thought it was strange, but I think we silently agreed to ask him about that in potions.

He wasn’t exactly my friend, but it still worried me to see him somewhat stressed.

"Double Potions with the Gryffindors," Theodore replies. "Professor Snape is the Head of Slytherin House, so hopefully he will favor us.”

“And we can find out if Blaise was lying or not,” I say with a smile.

I didn’t doubt him for a second, but it was always nice to wind someone up.

“It's true, he does!" Blaise exclaims and I attempt to stare at him disbelievingly.

I clearly fail though as before I know it, we’re all laughing.

“We have got to work on your facial expressions!” Cedric exclaims through chuckles and a warm feeling explodes in my chest.

It was nice to feel like you belonged.

Just then, the mail arrives.

I’d gotten used to this by now, but it had given me a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Dorean hadn't brought me anything so far. 

Although I don’t really expect anything.

Apart from maybe fan mail?

I wonder what had happened to that mail over the years - surely we would have got something.

Then again, the Dursleys did hate magic.

This morning, however, he flutters down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and drop a letter onto my plate.

A beautiful snowy owl drops a letter onto my plate after him, and I find myself staring at the two hesitantly, unsure of which one to open first.

In the end I pick the letter with the messiest handwriting first, tearing it open.

_Dear Ophelia,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

_I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

So he was reaching out to me?

I feel my eyes sting slightly - I don’t think anyone other than Harry had before.

I get out a quill to reply a quick yes.

The Second letter was much more elegant, and so I open it carefully, making sure that I didn’t rip any of the paper.

The handwriting inside was somehow even more beautiful than the writing on the envelope:

_Dear Miss Ophelia Potter,_

_Hello dear._

_First of all, let me introduce myself._

_I am Narcissa Malfoy, mother of your friend Draco, and I would like to help you._

_Draco mentioned your situation to me in one of his letters, and I can not even imagine to think about what it would be like to not know about your culture - especially when one like yourself hails from the most Ancient House of Potter._

_Rest assured, the culture of this world will not be hard to learn - especially for you, a Slytherin._

_I feel that the First year is the best year to learn this - as there is a lot more free time for you than there would be in your later years._

_Of course, it is ultimately your decision as to whether or not you take up my offer, but I must say that I feel (as our House is commonly the budding ground for extraordinary witches and wizards - Merlin being an example of this) it would be best for you to learn this, as the Sorting has already proved out of you and your twin brother, which one is more adept at the political dealings of House Potter._

_Not only that, but I fear that as you and Mr Potter are celebrities throughout the Wizarding World, you both will be likely targets of targets to leave you penniless - plots which you will be a lot less likely of falling prey to if one of you possesses extensive knowledge of Wizard Culture and all of its dealings._

_I hope that your and your brother’s first week at Hogwarts has gone well and that you’re not too overwhelmed by this sudden change in your lives._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Mrs Narcissa Malfoy._

At the signing of the letter, I turn and stare at Malfoy.

Why the hell had his mother written me this?

His offer to Harry on the train echoes in my head, and a small smile breaks out across my face.

I guess he really did want to help us - well, me, succeed in the Wizarding World.

_Or rather, he wants you as an ally to help the Malfoy family._

When we get up, Malfoy joins us again.

And this time, instead of him walking slightly in front - I walk next to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but I think he’s somewhat pleased.

“Thank your mother for the letter,” I say as we walk into the classroom, and he turns to look at me then - with barely restrained horror.

“She wrote to you?!” he hisses and I nod dumbly.

Surely he’d asked her to?

Then as soon as this horror appeared on his face, it disappears and is replaced by a sneer.

“Well, I did say I could help you. So you should tell her yourself.”

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It’s colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy even without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.  Strangely enough however, I felt at home here.

The teacher - my Head of House, Professor Snape, was already waiting for us, and his eyes follow us as we make our way to our seats - Draco quickly chooses the seats at the front, and everyone just follows his lead (After all, snakes stay together).

I sit down next to Pansy near the front of the room, and it’s not until I see a few students walk in with red and gold ties do I remember the reason for my excitement less than an hour ago.

“Harry,” I call, and he beams at me, sitting in the nearest seat that was available to me - Unfortunately it was across the classroom.

Pansy frowns but doesn’t say anything.

Snape, getting out a piece of parchment begins to take the register, only stopping at Harry's name. 

"Ah, Yes," he says in a tone I don’t quite like, "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity. "

Uh oh. 

What did Harry do to piss him off?

I look over at my twin, and he looks baffled, so clearly he didn’t know either.

If he didn’t know, then did I piss him off too?

“Ophelia Potter.” Snape says neutrally.

I blink.

Well that was somewhat comforting.

To me of course, not Harry.

Poor Harry.

As Snape starts reviewing the first chapter of the book, I watch him, trying to figure out if his hair was greasy or shiny. 

_Greasy._

The Professor’s eyes are so dark they looked like huge pupils surrounded by white, and with the mans large crooked nose, he looks like the spitting image of a classical muggletonian fairy tale. 

When the subject finally changes to center around a potion that we would be brewing next Monday, I start to take more diligent notes.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he begins. 

He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but we catch every word as, like Professor McGonagall, he has the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses....I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence follows this speech. 

I felt myself grin.

This seemed to be going even better than I had imagined it to!

Well, minus the Harry-hating part.

"Potter!" says Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

I open my mouth to answer, before realising that he wasn’t looking at me.

_Draught of the Living Death_.

I knew that.

"I don't know, sir," says Harry, looking terrified.

Snape's lips curl into a sneer.

"Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything."

“Draught of the Living Death, sir!” I exclaim and everyone turns to me. 

“You said Potter, sir - You didn’t clarify which one.”

"My apologies then, Miss Potter, for any confusion I may have caused.”   


I had a feeling he was just humoring me, but I wasn’t going to complain.

“Alright then, Mr Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretches her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but my twin clearly didn't have the faintest idea as to what a bezoar was. 

I glare at Malfoy, Vincent, and Gregory, who are laughing so hard that they’re shaking!

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" 

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand, and, in my opinion rightly so! Although I did vaguely wonder if she was going to seriously hurt herself.

"What is the difference, Mr Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stands up, her hand now stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

I, and the other Slytherins - and even some Gryffindors like Ron, stare at her in disbelief.

_What the hell?!_

I don’t know, weird voice. I think she’s just like that.

"I don't know," says Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laugh. None of them were Slytherins.

Snape, however, doesn’t, and was clearly not pleased.

"Sit down," he snaps at Granger, who does as she’s told. 

"Miss Potter do you know the answers?”

“A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite,” I recite, ignoring the hateful look Granger sends in my direction.

“Correct Miss Potter. A further 5 points to Slytherin. Why hasn’t anyone copied her response down?!”

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. 

Over the noise, Snape says, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued, and it was painfully obvious that he had a clear House bias.

Snape puts us all into pairs and sets us to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. 

He sweeps around in his long black cloak, watching us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost all of us except Draco, whom he seemed to like, Theodore, and surprisingly, me. 

He was just telling most people in the class to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke rise out of a cauldron and a loud hissing sound filled the dungeon. 

Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Seamus Finnegan’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. 

Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moans in pain as angry red boils spring up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarls Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpers as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounds on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You - Potter - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Somewhere inside of me, I knew that I should have stood up for Harry, but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know this Professor, and how he’d react to my intervention - most likely not well. 

And call me stupid, but it’s definitely not ideal to get my Head of House to hate me during my first week at Hogwarts.

So instead I stayed quiet, focusing on my potion instead - which ended up being the same colour as the potion in the book - even down to the exact shade.

\------

After potions, I travel back to my room to put my things away. Pansy follows me, propping down on my bed. "So...you stop talking to me to focus on your poor brother and you didn't stand up for him..."

"Harry knew what he had coming. I have a meeting. I'll see you later." I mumble quickly, and she smiles.

“I know. Have fun at the Gatekeeper’s hut!” 

I nod on the the way put.

Then I walk down towards the edge of the forbidden forest - where Hagrid's hut was. Knocking on the door, I hear a loud dog bark before the BFG opens the door. "Ophelia! Come in. Don't mind Fang." 

The smile he sends at me seems somewhat strained. But I don’t comment on it.

"Hi," I say smiling and bending down to pet the dog's head. 

I walk in to see Harry and Ron. "Harry. Ron," I greet warmly. 

They both smile too - Ron seeming somewhat guarded.

We began to tell Hagrid about our first week, eating rock hard cakes.

Seriously, what the hell did Hagrid put in these?

Harry and Ron both complain about Mr. Filch, the housekeeper of Hogwards and his cat, Mrs. Norris. I shrug when they ask. 

“He's been fairly indifferent to me, although I did give Mrs. Norris some tuna from dinner the other night." 

Then Harry goes on about Snape. "But he seemed to really hate me," My twin explains to the giant.  
  
"Rubbish!" replies Hagrid. "Why should he?"

"He seemed okay to me," I say, shrugging again. 

"Of course he does. You're a Slytherin..." Ron says with a slight sneer. 

I look at him, feeling a bit angry and betrayed. 

"Did I do something wrong to you, Ron?" 

"You didn't stand up for Harry." 

"He’s the Head of my House, what am I supposed to do?!" 

"Guys..." Harry intervenes and the two of us turn to him. 

Ron to his credit, looks ashamed immediately.

“You’re right Ophelia, Sorry,”

“It’s alright,” I mumble, glad that the apology is sincere.

I don’t know what would happen if Harry’s best friend and I didn’t get along.

"You guys, look!" Harry calls out, and the two of us look at him. He’s clutching a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

**Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.**

**Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.**

**"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.**

I vaguely remember Ron telling us on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but he hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" says Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday!”

“It might've been happening while we were there!" I exclaim, wondering how on earth they had done it.

Hagrid doesn’t meet our eyes, so I know that something’s up. Although the question was, what exactly?

Instead, He grunts and offers us another one of those horrid rock cakes. I decide to mentally take a note on what the article told us.

‘The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day’ - Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. 

Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

I walk back to the castle for dinner alongside Harry and Ron, our pockets weighed down with rock cakes we'd been too polite to refuse. We walk in silence as I think we all had a lot to think about. 

Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? 

Where was it now?

And who exactly wanted a grubby old package?

More importantly, What was the package?

“What’s up with you?” Theodore asks as I sit down with my group.

“Nothing,” I mumble, and the others turn to look at me. 

“How did the meeting with Hagrid go?” Pansy asks, trying a different approach.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Great.” Daphne mutters, “Another late night conversation. I swear we’re going to become walking Inferis.”

I’m guessing she meant zombies?

“Hey!” Elgin complains, “You never include us in your conversations!”

“Yeah,” Gregory joins in, “What if we want to hear them too?”

“Trust me,” Lily mutters, “I wish I wasn’t included in them,”

“Same. Stay out of it while you still can.” 

Pansy and Millicent shove both Daphne and Lily so that they almost fall off the table.

“If you want to hear them so badly,” Tracy suggests, “Why don’t we just have a sleepover tonight. Then Ophelia can tell us all.”

“What on earth is a sleepover?” Draco asks and I blink at him.

How can anyone not know what a sleepover was? It’s in the name!

“That is, if you don’t mind.” She continues, turning to me.

“I don’t.”

To put the blond out of his misery, I quickly explain what they are (‘It’s when you sleep over at someone’s house, or in this case, dorm room)

“Oh! You mean like a Sleep rite of passage!?” Pansy exclaims, and the other purebloods in our group nod with her.

Fighting a sigh of resignation, I just dig into my food.

\------

A couple of hours later, we walk into the boys’ dorm room, a levitating trunk trailing behind.

They’re all doing something - whether it be homework (Theodore) or reading The Daily Prophet (Draco) it’s not until Pansy clears her throat do they turn their attention onto us.

“You came!” Elgin exclaims, jumping from his bed.

“You can put the trunk there.”

Blaise points at a spot in the corner, and I direct the trunk over there, before dispelling the charm.

“You casted the levitation charm?” Cedric asks disbelievingly and I frown, not liking his tone of voice.

“Yeah. She did. Cast it on the train too.” Draco says, not looking up from his newspaper.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” I cast, and our bedding flies out of the trunk - only to go into each of our waiting arms. 

“So what happened?” Theodore asks again once we’ve all made ourselves comfortable.

We were now sitting in a circle, with our bedding (that was essentially a fancier wizard version of Sleeping Bags) laid out neatly behind us.

“I had my meeting with Hagrid,” I start off and then go on to explain my meeting to them.

Draco, Vincent and Gregory’s eyes darken when I mention my brother, but I ignore them and continue, knowing that the end of the recollection was the most important.

“Any Questions?” I ask when I finish and Millicent’s hand shoots in the air.

“Who’s Hagrid?”

“The Gamekeeper, Millie,” Daphne answers, looking somewhat annoyed.

I can’t say I blame her.

“What do you think” Blaise asks me and I shrug.

“I’m not really sure Blaise. All I know is that July 31st was the day Hagrid took Harry and I to Gringotts’ where we opened 2 Vaults.”

“Why 2?” Vincent asks. 

Do I tell them about the weird package?

_There’s no harm in it._

And so I do.

“So you’re telling me,” Lily asks, “That Hagrid took you and your twin with him to get a suspicious package?”

“Not only that,” Tracy adds, “But that same day, someone breaks into Gringotts and tries to steal something that had already been taken out?”

“Yes,” I reply, “Do you see why I find this strange?”

“You were a diversion,” Cedric states confidently and we turn to look at him. “The package was the intended target.”

I feel myself flush angrily. Was he suggesting that Hagrid was the thief?!

“How do you know?” Blaise asks.

“Because why else would Dumbledore have sent his servant to pick up the package, when said giant was supposed to be helping 2 first years buy supplies?”

I ignore the ‘servant’ statement and focus on the point. 

He...wasn’t wrong.

“So you’re saying to avoid whoever was going try and steal the object figuring out that the package was gone, Dumbledore decided to have Hagrid pick it up at the same time he had to look after my brother and I?” 

At Cedric’s nod, Pansy decides to speak up.

“What was in that package then?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble and my response makes Cedric look even surer than he had before - If that was even possible.

“Then we need to figure that out,” Draco states, his voice holding a slight amount of worry, “And fast, because if the Break-In was in that Vault, and Hagrid was supposed to hand the package off to Dumbledore...”

“That means the package is in the school!” Theodore exclaims, and I feel an awful sense of dread.

“If that person figures out that it’s here...” Millicent trails off, and I look around, noticing that everyone is either outwardly scared or nervous (with the exception of Draco, whose impassive expression is only betrayed by his shaky hands.)

“Then we need to be ready for them.” I state, surprising even myself at how leader-like I sounded.

However, what I said was true - we did need to be ready, for what happens if there’s an attack on the school? 

I just hope that when the attack comes, we’ll be ready for it.

But even if I am, Would Harry be?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Guys, This is a new fic. I know it's a Harry's sister fic and that might throw a lot of you off, but I've really wanted to write this trope in my own way, and quarantine is giving me the time to do that, so please give the fic a chance and let me know what you think.
> 
> Also I know the prologue almost completely follow the book, but as the fic goes in it will deviate more and more, I promise. It's just hard to think of another way to incorporate the two into the Wizarding World.
> 
> Thanking you for reading,
> 
> Franny


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